


The Galavant Holiday Special

by hujhax



Category: Galavant (TV)
Genre: Comedy, Dragons, F/M, High Fantasy, Meta, Monsters, Musicals, Romantic Comedy, Science Fiction & Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-09 05:28:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 21,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12881124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hujhax/pseuds/hujhax
Summary: When Madalena unleashes an ancient monster, our old friends have to team up to save Christmas, save the Seven Kingdoms, and save their own hides, in this all-singing, all-sword-ing, all-snarking adventure.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm posting new chapters of this story every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, from now 'til Christmas Day.
> 
> This story is rated PG for some kissing, silly songs, lots of meta-jokes, and one small beloved dragon.

for Lindsey, who hung all of the stockings along the bookshelf with care

and Ann, who did lots of patient beta-reading

\--

Snow!

Perfect crystals of snow, whirling through the night sky, drifting to the ground, and blanketing the hills and forests at the edge of the Seven Kingdoms. And at the edges of its main castle town, peasant children playing in it, throwing snowballs, one shouting, "I'm a pirate!", the other, "I'm a zombie!" -- and both of them showing a surprisingly keen grasp of recent events in the area. Nearby, their parents, drunkenly singing carols in the dirt paths around their hovels. And closer in, the 'luxury hovels' -- held together with fine dirt, rather than dung -- where snootier peasants sang in more careful and sober harmonies. And then the city wall, and beyond it, thatched-roof cottages, and little stone buildings, places where nobles and courtiers instructed moustachioed artisans in the construction of suitably impressive and bejeweled snowmen.

And there, at the center: the castle! Pristine, beautiful, and perfectly quiet, except for the gentle ringing from the glum-looking sleigh-bell ringer by the main gate.

"Oi! This is reasonable seasonal employment!" said the bell-ringer.

Quite. Fair point.

"Stupid narrator," muttered the bell-ringer. "Now Steve the Jester: *he* would do this right. Bring us in with a catchy song that concisely established the given circumstances, not some lazy montage of --"

And still more of the snow! Drifting down in all directions, covering the vast grounds of the castle keep, and blanketing a tall hill, a vantage from which you could see the town in all directions: buildings, children, singers, hovels, and all.

Several sets of footprints led up to the top of the hill, right up to where King Richard himself, standing tall and proud and -- wait, slipping on some ice or something -- oh, good, now drawing himself up again and looking around to see if anyone noticed, and, good, nobody noticed -- standing, yes, standing tall and proud, surveyed his surroundings and adjusted his exceptionally silly winter hat, a conical red woolen one with ear flaps and a white puffball on top.

"Yes," said King Richard, "This will do."

Along the base of the hill, walking aimlessly and happily, was his wife Roberta. Queen Roberta, for less than a year. A breeze tousled her long, red hair. Her dark, pensive eyes darted up to her husband, who was now holding up a small impassive lizard (who wore a matching silly winter hat) and speaking to it, pointing out various spots on the hill.

Behind her, on a frozen pond, well-dressed courtiers skated in lazy circles. They all began singing one word: "Christmastime", over and over, as gentle strings began to play.

And Roberta smiled. And she sang too.

    Song: "One Perfect Christmas"  
    Christmas when I was a little girl  
    Dreaming of Santa's sleigh  
    Stuck in a drab little orphanage  
    Somehow, he never came our way  
    It's true that all of my holidays  
    Have all been sad and blue  
    Could I have one perfect Christmas with you?

Suddenly, she was whisked along with the courtiers, skating smoothly across the ice, an improbably-attractive gentleman on each arm.

    Christmas when I was seventeen  
    Dreaming of boys and love  
    Plain, unkissed, by the mistletoe  
    Lingering there getting made fun of  
    I dreamed someday I would give my heart  
    And now at last I do  
    I want one perfect Christmas with you

And then, in the blink of an eye, she was walking across the parapets of the castle, looking down on the hilltop.

    Christmas now that I am a queen  
    All of my dreams come true  
    My first holiday with my love  
    Is this real?  
    Do I dream?  
    Is this true?  
    But I'll put the past behind me  
    And I'll fight for something new  
    I will have one perfect Christmas with you

She climbed a short archer's tower and faced into the wind, her eyes shining brightly. The music obligingly modulated up a half-step.

    We all deserve a second chance  
    And I will see mine through  
    I want one perfect Christmas with you  
    I want one perfect Christmas with you

\--

A short walk later, and Roberta was busily putting her Christmas plans into action, in a castle that was decorated to the hilt and bustling with activity.

She walked past kitchen staff preparing all manner of food, past decorators adjusting wall tapestries of all the latest events, and past several hooded figures leading around a contented-looking goat. She walked briskly, in the manner of someone in a far more dramatic storyline than the one we're following here. Alongside her walked Gwynne, a longtime maid who had variously been in the employ of Isabella, Madalena, and (in a brief, non-canonical phase) a band of merry thieves in the great woods of the Public Domain.

"-- and I'm not just a 'longtime maid', I'm also Roberta's friend!" protested Gwynne. "A lot's happened since the series finale!"

Okay, fine.

Turning back to Queen Roberta, Gwynne said, "And anyway, now, me and my Vincenzo" -- she gestured at the grinning, rail-thin chef loping happily behind them -- "have got ourselves a hovel out in Lavinia."

"A luxury hovel! Real dirt!" offered Vincenzo, as if sharing a giddy secret that would be unseemly to brag about openly.

"Oh, shush about that," Gwynne said, embarrassed. "What's important is it will last us the rest of our lives."

The chef nodded excitedly. "Five years!" he said. "Maybe even six!"

They pushed open a pair of doors and stepped into the castle's main hall, where elaborate sconces lined the walls, their warm light illuminating the massive fir tree that dominated the vast, high-ceilinged room. The tree had all sorts of ornaments: shiny spheres, colorful ropes, and odd little trinkets gathered from the people they'd met over the years. A tiny pirate ship hung from one branch, while an "Enchanted Forest" shot glass sat in a bough. Nestled near the top were two figurines -- one from the giants, one from the dwarves -- that were, oddly, roughly the same size and proportions. A replica of a massive green jewel topped the topmost branch.

"This is amazing," Roberta said to Gwynne. "You've outdone yourself."

Gwynne blushed with a quick curtsey and a muttered "Your Highness". "You wanted your first Christmas with King Richard to be perfect," she said simply.

"Food's coming along well, too," said Vincenzo.

"Excellent," said Roberta, "Remember, make it --"

The chef cut in smoothly, in a way that indicated he, too, was more a friend than a royal subject: "'Fancy, but don't let on it's fancy, because he's convinced he don't like fancy.'"

But by then, Roberta had already spotted the castle jester -- a tall, motleyed twenty-something who fell tragically short of 'roguish' and landed somewhere in 'mildly snarky' territory -- and beelined over to him. "Steve!" she shouted, and then went into an awkward sotto voce tone. "How's Richard's present coming?"

"Great!" said Steve the Jester, "Just, smashing progress. Gettin' it, y'know, doooone," he said, obviously lying.

"Wait, what does the narrator mean by 'obviously lyi--'"

Steve barked out a forced, gasping chuckle. "No, no, don't worry about that!" Steve said. "I just have a few touches here and there and it'll be ready to present on Christmas Day."

Roberta sighed with relief, though somehow, now she looked more stressed than ever.

"And he will *love* it," added Steve.

Roberta took a deep breath, and put on a practiced, regal smile. "Good. I'm counting on you," she said to the jester. Steve grinned pleasantly, opened his mouth to speak, and then saw Roberta dart off again, running down a very surprised-looking courtier and asking after candles for the musicians for the Christmas party.

Gwynne and Vincenzo caught up to Steve. Steve's smile had vanished, replaced by a combination of hopelessness and terror.

Gwynne smiled coyly. "Tell us what the gift is, then."

"Is it 'not dying of plague'?" asked Vincenzo. "Always a favorite."

"She wants me to write a piece of 'fan fiction'," said Steve.

Vincenzo grimaced and let out a disappointed, "Oh."

"That's not so bad, is it?" asked Gwynne. "You just write a -- well, what is a 'fan fiction', anyway?"

"Fan fiction is made-up stories that are based on the people and the world we all know -- but 'fan fiction' is a sort of extra bit that isn't really true," said Steve.

Vincenzo cut in: "Right, and it often follows minor characters, giving them more of a role to play, and even long spee--"

Steve interrupted: "Plus there are sexy bits, usually between the blokes in the original story. Pretty smutty, actually."

"Oh. Sounds improper," said Gwynne.

"Yup," said Steve.

"Very, er, explicit," said Vincenzo. "About the sex."

"Mm-hmm," said Steve, looking hopeless again.

Gwynne cleared her throat. "Do... you know where can I find some of this 'fan fiction' so that I can, y'know, *really* be offended by it?"

Steve continued, too lost in his own grief to hear her. "And the Queen has given me a fairly exacting commission, and I know exactly *how* to write it, and I've gotten nowhere with it."

"Ah, it can't be that bad, now, can it?" Gwynne said gently. "Now, about that 'fan fiction' -- is there an archive somewhere? Or a library? Or -- "

Steve was inconsolable. "I've been staring at a blank piece of parchment or a week! But tonight, everything changes. Tonight, I'll work, and I'll get this written."

"That's the spirit!" said the chef. "Oh, and here's something that can cheer you up!" He reached into a pocket tucked away in one of his baggy sleeves. "An early Christmas present from us. We servants have to 'stick' together!" He handed over a clumsily whittled ball-and-stick toy, proud of his pun.

Steve had one go at landing the ball on the stick, and was instantly transfixed. 

"Or I could put off writing and spend the whole night doing this," he said.

\--

Meanwhile, Roberta had ascended the stairs to the royal bedchambers, where her stern, tight-jawed lady-in-waiting, Mathilde, waited on her. Mathilde had taken over the logistics of the holiday celebrations with military precision -- which made sense, given her vague intimations of making a living as a grizzled mercenary before coming to the kingdom.

"And remember," said Roberta, "no large animals! We know Richard spooks easily, and we don't want another Elephant Incident."

"Everything's as you requested," Mathilde said flatly. She gestured at the king's tailor, Herzio, who stood by in resplendent robes and even more resplendent moustache, picking at a brocaded white dress. "Herzio's made the adjustments to your dress. The gifts are all on schedule. The servants are prepped." She nodded in satisfaction. "We are 'go' for Christmas." She made a soft "hem" noise, looking for the right words, then: "It'll... it'll be okay, Your Highness."

Roberta took a deep breath.

Music played faintly in her ears as she approached her bedroom window. She looked down on the main courtyard, where servants made final, tiny adjustments to beautiful holiday decorations. Richard was making his way back from Redoubt Hill, getting distracted by the sheer joy of tromping through deep snow, bounding through it like a fox. And far beyond that, at the distant horizon, the sun was slowly setting over their quiet, wintry kingdom.

Roberta smiled.

    Song: "One Perfect Christmas" (reprise):  
    I dreamed someday I would give my heart  
    And now at last I do  
    I want one perfect Christmas with you

And there at the window, as the last chord resolved, Roberta looked beautiful. More importantly, she looked happy.

\--

There was an image of Roberta, at that very moment, that looked almost as beautiful, almost as happy, and slightly distorted.

The image projected from a clear crystal ball that sat balanced in a trivet of black, cast-iron talons. The sphere shone with the faint winter sunlight of Roberta's distant, snow-covered palace, providing the only light in a cold, damp, cavernous room.

An elegant white hand swept across the crystalline surface, and the image froze, the dust motes in the window's light tumbling slowly in place.

"Oh, Queen Roberta," said a feminine voice, simultaneously peevish and dripping with courtesy, "it *will* be a perfect Christmas."

Madalena eased back from the altar with the crystal ball. Her face had an unconvincing look of demure concern. She wore a black dress, and it was tighter and more angular than the ensembles she was used to -- uncomfortable, but the Dark, Dark, Evil Tailor had assured her that the look was very much the 'in thing' for villains this season, and would set off her regal features and dark tresses nicely.

Madalena dropped her mock-innocent expression and smiled wickedly. "Because this Christmas, everyone is receiving MY REVENGE!"

She smashed both fists down on the edge of the altar. Suddenly, runes etched into its surface began to glow in a sickly green light. Runes around the whole room followed suit. And all the while, she laughed, an evil, cackling villain laugh that resounded down the dark castle's hallways. Gales of laughter, like -- hold on, no, she stopped. She stopped laughing. Okay, then she took a couple of deep breaths.

Villainwear, she thought, really did a number on a lady's lung capacity.

A blinding beam of light burst up from the floor and shot through a skylight in the ceiling. Then the sickly green light seemed to recede back down to the ground and collect by the altar, taking a form that looked like... some strange collection of animals. And just as the light was about to fade, revealing what Madalena had summoned --

\--


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gareth thinks he's finally located Madalena's Dark, Dark, Evil Castle, but Sid has his doubts, and getting in is not going to be easy...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This is chapter 2 of The Galavant Holiday Special, a fanfic I'm releasing through the month of December. I'm posting new bite-sized chapters every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, right up to Christmas Day.]
> 
> [Okay, when we left off, the castle was abuzz with plans for a holiday celebration, but Madalena was up to some dark, dark, holiday-ruining magic somewhere...]

"Galavant." That's a good name, isn't it? We'll be catching up with him soon enough, but now, just think on that name. Imagine it written out in gold in some elaborate font, maybe with a sword for the "T", floating above misty, idyllic hillsides. And then suddenly the letters fly forward, past you, as an inspiring orchestra plays a short melody that's still catchy and recognizable.

Isn't that cool?

\--

Ah. There I go, wandering off-topic. Where were we? Ah, right! At a clearing near a dark and sinister castle.

("No we definitely weren't!" said everyone who had read the preceding chapter. "And where's Steve? Why isn't *Steve* narrating? We *like* Steve.")

So. The dark and sinister castle loomed over the valley like a gargoyle, a menacing silhouette set against a sky of red, swirling stormclouds. Lightning bolts shot through the sky from one cloud to another, starkly lighting the landscape below, where lonely dead trees and skeletons dotted clay scrubland.

Sid took a deep breath, taking it all in, and in that moment, his natural exuberance wilted. "That's it!" the young man said. "It's official! This is the scariest place we've been so far. And that includes the Swamp of Unfair and Immediate Death, the Spider Caves, and *both* of the Haunted Lava Ruins." Sid was always eager to see new things, meet new people, and be as affable and as helpful as only he could be, but this eagerness had reached its breaking point. "By the way, how were there *two* of those? *Two* Haunted Lava Ruins? In separate countries?"

"Yeah," said Gareth, his scarred, intimidating face breaking into a rare grin, "we've had some good times."

"What 'good times'?" asked Sid.

There was a long moment, one in which, typically, one of the men would recap for the other what they'd been up to lately, even though both of them knew all of that information well. Instead, they both sat there expectantly, as if waiting for someone else to provide the -- ah.

Right. *I* can just do the exposition here, can't I?

Gareth nodded.

So. The two men -- Sid, Galavant's trusty squire, and Gareth, King Richard's erstwhile brutal enforcer -- had gone off after Madalena, Gareth's ex-girlfriend, who --

"She's not my girlfriend," said Gareth, threateningly. (Not that this was out of the ordinary -- *everything* Gareth said, whether it was "Hello" or "That's a door" or "Who's a cute little kitty?", had an edge of menace to it.) "Madalena and I weren't going on dates and meeting each other's parents. And she's not ex-, she's just --"

Madalena, having learned the basics of the Dark Evil Way --

"Dark, *Dark* Evil Way," said Sid.

"Two 'darks'," agreed Gareth.

\-- the Dark, *Dark* Evil Way, had become entranced by the promises of its mysterious, secret arcana. And so, Madalena had fled the kingdom, succumbing to her lust for power, on a quest to learn more of its ancient secrets and eventually use her newfound abilities to rule the kingdom with an iron hand.

Whatever good there had ever been in Madalena was extinguished, once and for all. Only her hunger for revenge remained.

"Eh, she'll come around," said Gareth threateningly. (See what I mean? *Everything he says.*) "None of you lot know her like I do. We get in a room together and talk, she'll be right as rain."

"And I'm telling you, she won't," said Sid earnestly. "She's a villain. And not one of those nice villains that only hunts other villains and is weirdly sympathetic. Madalena won't change. When we find her, we need to *stop* her."

"Stop her from what?"

Sid expressed himself apologetically, the way any of us would when contradicting a hulking mercenary, an experienced killer who laughed at all the wrong parts of stories because he thought beheadings were 'just so funny': "Madalena *did* literally say, 'I will become the greatest sorceress in the land, and then have my revenge on every single last one of you.'"

Gareth thought for a moment, his mouth quirked in a slight grimace. "Doesn't sound like her," he concluded.

"Word for word," said Sid. He had had this argument with Gareth ten times now, and didn't expect to get anywhere new this time.

"Must've happened offscreen," muttered Gareth.

It was with that détente of cross-purpose that Sid and Gareth had pursued their quest to find Madalena. They had followed the destruction she had left in her wake, and they had sought out the rumors of her unquenchable thirst for evil. They had heard the tales, passed in shadowy taverns, of the DDEC Castle --

"No, just 'DDEC'," said Gareth.

Look, I *think* I know the names of plot-relevant locations --

"DDEC *means* 'Dark, Dark Evil Castle'," said Sid, "so 'DDEC Castle' would be --"

"That'd be 'Dark, Dark Evil Castle Castle'," said Gareth, nodding.

"Makes it sound like you're having a stroke," said Sid.

Right.

Okay.

They learned of the DDEC, or "Dark, Dark Evil Castle", and traveled all over the kingdom seeking it out. The helpful gentlemen in the Enchanted Forest had seen it towering over the Lower Raidings... but they'd gone there and found nothing. The pirates of the eastern seas had seen it hidden away at Nielsen's Dip, but after an eventful voyage there, they found nothing. And so it went, over and over.

"But now," said Gareth.

"Now?" asked Sid.

"Well... just look at that!" he said, gesturing excitedly at the structure, "All dark and looming. That has to be it!"

"This is the fifth dark, ominous castle we've seen," said Sid. "It's probably just another ancient building full of terrifying monsters and cursed, undead royalty. Let's just go back to King Richard's keep for the holiday."

"NO!" shouted Gareth, reaching reflexively for his sword as Sid shrank back. "No. Never."

"But this is the time to be at home! With family and friends! You don't spend the holidays fighting voracious scorpion-beasts in some terrifying --"

"Stop talking. Now."

"I will never understand why you have such a problem with the happiest time of the year!"

"HALT!"

Oddly, it wasn't Gareth saying that.

Instead, the one who said "HALT!" was one of a group of five guards -- or creatures in the shape of guards, armed and liveried like guards, but who looked more like statues, or oversized versions of the little wooden figures that traveled around cuckoo clocks.

"You trespass upon the High Mistress's grounds!" their leader croaked in an oddly metallic voice. "Prepare to die!"

"You wanna know my problem with this time of year?" asked Gareth.

Sid unsheathed his bastard sword. "Maybe tell me *after* the mêlée with the ominous nightmare-guards?"

"Fine! Fine. I'll tell you."

And so he did, his explanation timed perfectly with their battle with the mysterious officers.

    Song: "What Good Is Christmas If No One Gets Killed?"  
    Christmas is here with good spirits and cheer  
    To bring peace on earth is what Christmas is for.  
    And all of these peasants are pleased with their presents.  
    But that's just no good if your business is war...

    Oh, what good is Christmas if no one gets killed?  
    What good is Christmas if no one gets killed?  
    It's the off-month for the Mercenary Guild!  
    Oh, what good is Christmas if no one gets killed?

    Everyone's talking about all their stockings  
    And getting their whatsits and thingamabobs  
    If we're being truthful I don't feel that useful  
    It's like no one likes that I'm good at my job.

At this moment, he slashed through one of the guards, who collapsed, singing one last line...

    He loves his jooooob!

... and died.

    Oh, what good is Christmas if no one gets killed?  
    What good is Christmas if no one gets killed?  
    Everyone's quiet and nice and weak-willed!  
    Oh, what good is Christmas if no one gets killed?

The remaining four guards slowly circled Gareth at a safe distance. This gave him a moment to be pensive.

    And they all get to be   
    With all their families  
    Waiting round for Santa's little sleigh

    But the only one I love  
    Has gone and wandered off  
    To some dark castle locked up far away

One of the guards jumped forward:  
      
    He's so aloooone.  
      
... and was viciously stabbed...

    Ow.  
      
... and died.

    Oh, what good is Christmas if no one gets killed?  
    What good is Christmas if no one gets killed?  
    Everyone's happy but I'm hardly thrilled!  
    Tinsel and snow leave me all unfulfilled!  
    It's not a holiday unless blood is spilled!  
    Oh, what good is Christmas if no one gets killed?

By this point, two guards were dead; a third passed out after getting hurled into a tree -- the top part of the tree; and a fourth had fallen into a river and was, in spite of his best efforts, floating quickly downstream.

And now Gareth had the fifth wrestled to the ground. "Error!" it said. "Trespasser is not agreeing to demands! Trespasser is --"

And with the first glint of glee Gareth had shown in days, he wrenched the guard's head off.

A few gears sprung loose. A little puff of steam vented from the base of its skull.

"Aw," shouted Gareth. He looked plaintively at Sid. "The saddest thing in the world, killing something that won't bleed." He got up and gave the skull a disconsolate kick. "It's like this stupid holiday knows my weak spots and just pokes at them."

"Let's just move on," said Sid reasonably. "We don't even know if anyone's doing magic in that castle, let alone if Madalena is in there."

At that moment, behind Sid's back, a blast of magical green light shot up into the sky from the castle, and, faintly but unmistakably, Madalena cackled wildly.

Sid sighed. "Never mind."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [... and that’s it for today! Thanks for reading, everybody, and stay tuned for the next chapter, coming this Wednesday!]


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, Richard sorts out how the Seven Kingdoms shall celebrate the holiday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This is chapter 3 of The Galavant Holiday Special, a fanfic I'm releasing through the month of December. I'm posting new bite-sized chapters every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, right up to Christmas Day.]
> 
> [Okay, when we left off, Gareth and Sid had finally tracked down what they were just sure was Madalena's Dark, Dark, Evil Castle...]

Meanwhile, King Richard had settled in for some right and proper kinging.

Richard sat at the head of a long table in the castle's largest stateroom. Different representatives from all around the Seven Kingdoms were there -- and at that moment, they were all sitting and listening to the Monks, who stood opposite the king, singing.

    Song: O Christmas Tree  
    O Christmas Tree, O Christmas tree,  
    How lovely are your branches!  
    O Christmas Tree, O Christmas tree,  
    How lovely are your branches!  
    Are these the words? You'll never know  
    'cos no one knows how this part goes  
    O Christmas tree, O Christmas tree,  
    How lovely are your branches!

They now settled to a smooth bed of "ooh oohs", as their newest member, the "bad-boy monk" with dark glasses and a superfluous cane, stepped to the floor for a parlando, "talking it through" verse.

    Christmas tree  
    Baby  
    You know you're the finest-lookin' decoration in my house.  
    And come Christmas Eve  
    I'm gonna hang my shiniest balls all over those branches  
    All night long  
    Unh.  
    And the --

"Right, right, we get the idea," said Richard, who rather didn't get the idea. As usual for Richard, this was probably for the best.

"What?" asked Richard under his breath.

Oh. Um, nothing.

Anyway, you're probably wondering what this meeting was for. ("Seriously. In medias res has its limits, y'know," said the readers.)

King Richard called this meeting because he really, really loved Christmas.

The holiday had all his happiest memories of childhood. Even the year his parents had only gifted him a scrap piece of wood from the new stables -- his great, kingly father had handed it over while grunting, "There. Christmas. Done." -- Richard was convinced that the season made even that bit of lumber into something magical. So he named it Scrappy, he brought it on adventures, and for two and a half weeks -- until his mother had burned it in front of him, saying, "No child of the crown will go simple and talk to wood" -- his imagination had soared.

Once restored to his position, Richard tried something unprecedented: listening to his subjects. And from that, he learned that many, many people -- some in his kingdom, and countless souls abroad -- didn't *celebrate* Christmas. So he immediately sketched out plans to send military sorties to visit neighboring nations. "And we can really, really convince them how good Christmas is," he'd told Roberta.

Roberta winced a bit, looking over the large map that Richard had drawn up, with red arrows pushing out from the Seven Kingdoms into Moroixil, and Shogun-ze, and Allyata Sana. "These look like invasions," the queen said.

"Yes! Exactly! An invasion of fun! A crusade for presents!" He quickly seized a quill and inkwell. "Ooh, 'crusade', I like the sound of that one."

"But there's no *need*, Richard."

"But... Christmas!" said Richard, gesturing at the map, helpless against the prospect of spreading Christmas cheer, by the sword if need be.

"My love," she said gently, "at the same time Christmas comes around, lots of different people have holidays of their own."

Richard's slowly looked up at her, his eyes wide as saucers, his breath held, his smile beatific. "Really?" he asked, stretching the word out to a half-dozen eager syllables.

The queen had, unwittingly, given King Richard the one present that the kingdom's most heartfelt Christmas fan would treasure most of all: an entire batch of "new Christmases".

So, to that end, Richard had declared that Redoubt Hill, the heart of the Seven Kingdoms, would have holiday displays for every winter holiday in his domain. Now he just had to figure out what those displays *were*, so he'd called in representatives of all the major traditions in the Seven Kingdoms. The Monks were there to represent the kingdom's Christians, and had expressed, via song, that they wanted a tree.

"So. A traditional Christmas tree for the Christians." Richard marked it down patiently and neatly on a sheet of parchment while the lead monk smiled and nodded a quick thank-you. Then the monks retired to a far corner of the chamber to practice barbershop tags incessantly.

"And then next... Jewish people!" There was a long pause. Richard looked around the long table. "Jewish... people...?"

"Right over here!" One of a small group almost-comically-Jewish elders from Sid's hometown waved a hand. "Sorry about that," he said. "Somebody asks, 'Where are all the Jews?', our instinct is to just keep stumm."

"It says you need the Magical Talisman of Minno-Ra."

"No, it's a *menorah*, and it's more of a -- y'know, we'll just send a diagram."

Another of the elders piped up, "Put him in touch with Moshe, he's a hell of a craftsman." They all murmured assent.

"So: magical... talisman... for the Jews," Richard was patiently writing.

The first elder shrugged. "Close enough?" asked the second.

Richard looked down the table to where a harmless middle-aged couple, both wearing slightly anachronistic anoraks, sat beside the great sorcerer Xanax, the breezy magical-apothecary whose face always looked a little like a disappointed ferret just on the verge of sneezing.

"And... atheists. What shall we have for you?"

"Tree, please," said Xanax.

Richard closed his eyes in sudden exasperation. "But the Christians just claimed 'tree'," he said. "What do atheists want with a Christmas tree, anyway?"

"I think they're pretty," said man in the anorak.

An awkward pause followed, during which the man made an apologetic half-shrug.

"We like presents," added the woman in the anorak.

"Right, right, but remember the rules: is it a *tradition* among your people?"

"Well it's not really a 'people', is it?" said Xanax. "More a worldview. And it's just me, really. Well, me and Dave and Cynthia." The anoraked couple smiled and nodded. "And we'd like a tree, too."

"There are really only three of you?" asked Richard.

"It's early days yet, for us atheists," said Xanax with a Gallic shrug. "Plus, a bit hard to be an atheist when science doesn't exist and magical beasties keep popping in and out of reality. But we think it's got real growth potential."

"All right, then. Tree for the atheist section," said Richard. He was honestly a little confused by the atheists. Whenever he talked to Cynthia or Dave or (especially) Xanax about what they celebrated and believed, they went on about improbability and the nature of reality and, ugh, it made his head spin. Better to give them a nice, cheery-looking tree and trust that some form of the holiday spirit would find them.

"THE GREAT SACRIFICE SHALL BE DISPLAYED," breathed a hollow voice from the shadows beyond the table.

"Bah!" said Richard, jumping a bit.

"AND THE EYES OF THE DAY-EATER SHALL BE APPEASED." The figure stepped from the darkness, its face shrouded by a dark cowl. It was pretty much the same outfits that the monks (who were now repeatedly singing variations on "my sweet old gaaaaal") wore, only this figure carried it off far more ominously and unsettlingly.

"Right, right, the Hooded Worshippers of K'Thok. You mentioned wanting a traditional --"

"THUS SHALL HUMAN SANITY BE SPARED ANOTHER TWELVEMONTH."

"You wanted an elaborately costumed goat, which is apparently your usual thing --"

"JUST THE ONE SHOULD DO FINE."

Then Richard said "Good" and the hooded figure said "THANKS" simultaneously, and there was a silent, awkward pause, and the figure took a few steps back into the shadows.

"I do not have half a clue what's going on here," a man's voice said. From the sound of it, this was how the man felt in life by default, and he handled that with detached acceptance.

"I thought if I just sat here and listened long enough, it would click, but --" replied a woman.

"-- bupkus," finished the man. It was the King and Queen of Valencia, Isabella's parents, who had been passing through Richard's kingdom, happily on vacation since passing rulership to their daughter. They sat at the table looking like they'd been served a puzzling dish, but they didn't want to offend their hosts, and anyway, they'd eaten worse.

"It's for Christmas!" said Richard brightly. "And," he nodded to the hooded figure, "K'toth-iri, and Hanyaka --"

"Close enough!" said a town elder.

"-- and," he looked at the three atheists, puzzled, "what, exactly --"

"We pretty much do Christmas," said Xanax, "only less," he gestured vaguely, "goddily."

"Great! Double Christmas!" said Richard, scritching a note on the form. "Anyway, we cleared out some primo hilltop real estate on the castle grounds, and we're using it for great symbols of all the kingdom's holiday celebrations. All the Christmases."

"Close enough!" said the elder.

"Buuuuut starting to push it," said the other elder.

"And of course," Richard carried on, "I know we have some Valencians among us." He nodded cheerily to the King and Queen. Sure, they'd been imprisoned by King Richard for months, but that was at least a year or two ago, and honestly, getting thrown in a prison now and again was just part of the gig for international diplomacy. Still, both the king and the queen regarded Richard the way they might look at a domesticated tiger. They were on his good side, yes. But they were pretty sure he was crazy.

"How does your community celebrate this time of year?" asked Richard.

"Uh, usually we go skiing," said the King of Valencia.

"We don't really 'do' Christmastime," added the Queen, "It's okay -- seriously, we got other holidays round the year up the ying-yang."

"But... but there has to be *something* --" said Richard.

"Look. This is great, your majesty," said the Valencian king, "but you don't need to go overboard with this whole 'inclusion' thing."

Richard looked despondent.

The King of Valencia sighed. "Just put us down for a tree, I guess."

"Triple Christmas!" said Richard excitedly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [... and that's it for chapter three! Chapter four drops on Friday.]


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gareth and Sid compare notes on holidays, while Richard receives terrifying portents of things to come, and kind of tries to ignore them, because I mean really: portents? Nobody believes those, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Okay, when we left off, King Richard was just finishing off the holiday planning for the Seven Kingdoms, and was assuming that everything was going just fine...]

Meanwhile, back at the terrifying hellcastle -- 

"Dark, dark, *evil* castle," corrected Sid.

"We don't *know* that," counter-corrected Gareth.

Meanwhile, back at the ambiguously inauspicious hellcastle --

Gareth thought a moment, and then shrugged.

"Sure," said Sid.

\-- Gareth and Sid had come a little closer to the entrance. They were now crouched behind a cluster of boulders close by the front entrance to the jet-black, towering structure.

They were still talking about Christmas.

"I mean, really? The real question? The real question is 'Why do *you* think Christmas is so *great*?'" said Gareth.

"Me? Trust me, this is not about me," said Sid.

"What? Every winter comes around, you're all smiling and cheerful and that. All for a holiday that's all about being meek and peaceful and boring. And I swear the troubadors sing the Christmas ballads earlier every year."

"I don't celebrate Christmas," said Sid.

"*Everyone* celebrates Christmas," said Gareth, "Well. Except the goat people. But everyone *else* does."

"*I* don't. I'm Jewish," said Sid, puzzled -- surely he'd mentioned this to Gareth before -- but Gareth looked confused. It was the same look Gareth took on when Sid explained astronomy to him, or pacifism. So Sid went on: "I'm Jewish, so I celebrate Hannukah."

"What's Hannukah?"

There was a long pause, with Sid waiting expectantly. Finally, he said, "Well, I could explain it with a whole lot of dialog, *or* the narrator could do their *job* and --"

Ah! Right, right.

And so, Sid told him of Hannukah, the Festival of Lights. He told the story of how his acestors, years ago, had driven their Greek oppressors from their sacred temple, and how the Greeks had left them with but one day's oil, but it miraculously burned for an additional week, enough to survive the brutal siege they'd been put under.

Gareth stared back with a face devoid of all expression, or as Sid called it, "resting murder face".

Then there was a long, silent awkward pause, during which Sid blew out his cheeks a bit, shrugged, and generally kept an eye on Gareth to see if he was about to start stabbing things.

"It's also kind of a 'knockoff Christmas,' really --"

Gareth, ignored him completely: "That. Is. Perfect."

"I mostly just get socks, and -- wait, what?"

"A whole holiday about *killing*!" said Gareth. It was the first time Sid had seen Gareth break into a genuine, bright, warm smile.

It was unsettling.

"N-- no," Sid said carefully, "The story is really about not *getting* killed --"

"And 'not getting killed' is half the battle, right? Like my father always said."

Sid laughed nervously.

"None of this meek 'Oh, sorry, I'll go have a baby in this manger,' toff -- this is 'We killed our oppressors and now we're gonna use magic to set things on fire!'"

"Uh -- close enough?" said Sid.

"And these Greeks," Gareth spat out the word like it was beneath his dignity, "How long were people trying to keep the Jews down?"

Sid thought for a moment. "Four thousand years and counting, I guess?"

Gareth slumped down behind the rock and was slackjawed for a moment. 

"Wow," he said.

\--

"Good meeting, everybody," said Richard, smiling.

All the groups, including the elders of the Jewish village, the Valencians, the Hooded Followers of K'toth, the monks, and Dave and Cynthia, all filed out of the room. Each group had been given an appropriate display on their section of Redoubt Hill. They all looked a little nonplussed, the way you do when someone is way too excited about giving you a present you didn't ask for, and you're still weighing whether you even wanted it in the first place. But Richard beamed like a man who had performed a miracle -- last week, his kingdom had had but one Christmas, and now, by his reckoning, it had a half-dozen.

"All right... thank you... goodness there are a lot of you," said Richard as the representatives milled past, the king teetering between being impressed and being impatient. Finally, the last of them, the great apothecary Xanax, approached the exit.

And then Xanax stopped.

"Er, one last thing, your --" Xanax made a little bow, and was so unpracticed at it that the gesture felt ironic "-- your most royal highness."

"Is it to do with the tree?" He eased closer, sounding needlessly conspiratorial: "Because we *are* a bit tree-heavy on the Hill."

"What? No, the tree's good. It's a good tree. No, I was thinking, though, king like you -- ruling the kingdom -- could maybe use the help of a good magician." Xanax slowly twirled both index fingers to point at himself. But King Richard ignored the awkward gesture, lost in thought.

"A magician? No, I think things are running themselves pretty well now." And it was true -- every prophesy had foretold that, once the One True King ascended the throne, that peace and prosperity would rain blessings on the land. And true to its word, the Kingly Budget Office had reported that now, the peasants were indeed 13% less squalid than the year before!

"Specifically, an apothecary?" Nothing about Richard's mien said 'yes' or even 'maybe', but Xanax pressed on: "Specifically, me?" Richard's face was blank. Xanax's voice began a nervous slide upwards in pitch as Queen Roberta stepped quietly into the room. "Helping out? At the castle? With... potions and things?"

Richard made a series of "hmm"s as he racked his memory for any possible use he might have for the Mad Potioner of Merckshire. "Nope."

"Oh," said Xanax, straining a casual smile, "That's alright. I'll keep, y'know, looking and THE EVIL FROM BEYOND TIME AWAITS FROM THE NORTH," he finished, with his eyes suddenly rolled back and his voice instantly taking on an unnatural, guttural quality.

"Are you listing a... job qualification, or --?" asked Richard.

"THE BROKEN QUEEN SHALL SEND THE MONSTER OF NIGHTMARES ON CHRISTMAS DAY," uttered Xanax.

"That seems unlikely. I mean, nobody wants to *work* on Christmas, even monsters --"

"PREPARE," said Xanax, drawing back the last syllable into a harsh whisper.

Richard winced. "Yeah," he said, drawing out the syllable needlessly, "but I don't want to drag the soldiers away from their parties. I want to be the 'cool boss', y'know?" he said, giving Xanax an unwelcome, playful punch to the shoulder.

"Richard," said Roberta. "Let's... try moving the soldiers to the Northern Battlements. We've brought together a lot of fighters from different lands, and a simple military exercise would help them bond."

"DEATH AWAITS THE LAND," said Xanax.

"Quiet, creepy-prophesy man," she snapped with a sudden, imperious air. The great sorcerer Xanax, his eyes still rolled towards the ceiling, shrugged apologetically. To Richard, she said, "Besides, the soldiers are bored. Peace rules the land, so they have no enemies to clash with."

"Mmm, fair point," Richard said, and suddenly stopped. "Wait, is this one of those things where you see a problem that I don't and then trick me into doing the right thing for my own good?"

She smiled in a way that would be called roguish.

(Sidebar: her smile would be called "roguish" if the kingdom's Rogue's Guild would ever get with the times and allow women in its ranks. As it was, they were all men who were very particular about "Rogue™" as a brand name.)

(Sidebar to the sidebar: the Rogue's Guild was, in truth, actually all *women*, all of whom wore big fake moustaches and, in blustering, lowered voices, spoke vaguely about 'the local sporting matches' and 'hunting animals for food'.)

Anyway, I think we can chance it: Roberta smiled roguishly. "You'd do the same for me, right?" They kissed with quick, domestic ease, and then Richard turned back to Xanax.

"You get your way, sorcerer!" he said happily. "I shall dispatch the army to the Northern Battlements to fight off whatever may come our way."

"THE GREAT FIRE IS COMI--" And just then, Xanax's eyes rolled back to normal, his voice went back to its usual octave, and he switched sentences midword, unaware that any time had passed: "-- and even pills for, you know, male stamina. If you, er, get my generalaaaaaAAAA" He suddenly noticed Roberta had somehow magically appeared in the room, and he went miserably tongue-tied. "I mean -- I didn't mean -- I wouldn't dare say --"

"Out!" said Roberta.

Xanax exited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [... aaand there’s the end of chapter four. Chapter five drops on Monday! In the meantime, please share this with any Galavant fans in your lives. (There are dozens of us! DOZENS!) And if you haven’t seen the show and are somehow reading this fanfic anyway, wow, thanks! Do check out the series on netflix.]


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gareth and Sid finally reach the Dark, Dark, Evil Castle and confront Madalena. Will the confrontation leads to fighting or to making out?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This is chapter 5 of The Galavant Holiday Special, a fanfic I'm releasing through the month of December. I'm posting new bite-sized chapters every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, right up to Christmas Day.]
> 
> [Okay, when we left off, Gareth had learned about Hannukah, and Xanax had delivered a dire prophesy to King Richard...]

The clockwork liveried soldier stood at attention in the crystal-ball room, its gears spinning and bits of steam puffing from its head. "I am sorry, my Dark, Evil Majesty --"

"Dark, *Dark*, Evil Majesty," corrected Madalena as she traced a long, slender finger along the altar's carved runes.

"Five of the drone scouts have not reported back."

"Then just -- " she waved her hands vaguely and peevishly, "-- build more drones! You don't have to ask me about every little thing --"

"-- but my Dark, Evil Majesty..."

"For god's sake, say the extra 'Dark'," muttered Madalena.

"-- this means there may be a threat approaching the --"

The soldier stopped midsentence with a little gasp, suddenly looking up to the ceiling.

"Approaching the what?" asked Madalena. The soldier continued gasping. "Approaching the hills? Approaching the local wildlife? Approaching the limits of my patience?!" She scoffed. "Next time, I'm getting a *normal* army, full of *normal* peasants, and I'm keeping them in line with *normal* threats of liquefaction spells. None of this steam-powered nonsense."

Then suddenly the soldier's body lurched and fell to one side, revealing Gareth, nonchalantly dusting off his hands. "Don't think there'll be a 'next time', love."

"Gareth!" said Madalena. For one moment, for that one word, she was beaming and giddy and gleeful. Then she composed herself, carefully putting on an austere expression. She tried to take a deep breath, but failed. ("Damn dress," she muttered to herself.) "How did you find me here?"

"Not too hard," said Gareth, sauntering forward. "Just asked around for someone viciously sadistic and dead sexy."

Madalena smirked, smoothed the dress's uncomfortable fabric, and stepped close to him. "They could have just pointed at you," she said softly. "Are you here to rescue me, Gareth?" she said, affecting a damsel-in-distress tone.

The two of them stayed still for a moment, their bodies leaning in for a kiss, their eyes carefully keeping watch on each other.

Gareth reached for his sword, stopped, and instead carefully reached towards Madalena's waist. She chuckled to herself, smiling, and leaned forward towards his lips --

"People. C'mon. I'm right here in the room," said Sid.

"Oh! Right," said Gareth, who had, in the moment, genuinely forgotten what they'd come for. He stepped back from the Dark, Dark Evil (and Very Sexy) Sorceress.

"What the --" began Madalena before veering into unrepeatable profanity.

"Remember why we're here," said Sid through gritted teeth.

"If this were a *real* fanfic, all three of us would be having sex *right now*, and it would be *amazing*," said Madalena, folding her arms and pouting.

Gareth eyed Sid, weighing the option momentarily. "Nah," he said.

"Definitely not," said Sid, indignant.

"Hmph," said Madalena.

"Wait, why am I just a 'nah'?" asked Sid.

Gareth turned back to Madalena. "I'm here to get you to knock off all this Dark, Dark, Evil Magic." Madalena let out a quick involuntary laugh, but Gareth soldiered on. "Come back to the kingdom with me, and we can merc for King Richard -- y'know, go around killing people like honest folk do."

"The kingdom's at peace, Gareth," she said peevishly.

"Peace never lasts," he reassured her.

"Open your eyes, you -- " Madalena mentally rummaged for an insult "-- you brain-dead, thick-necked peasant!"

Gareth raised an involuntary hand to his neck. "I know you don't mean that," he muttered, a hurt look in his eyes.

Madalena looked around uncomfortably, wanting, for a split-second to apologize, but having literally never apologized for anything in her life, the feeling flitted by like a mysterious, vexing bloom of baseless sadness.

"I have everything I want here," she said. "I have a castle. I have rulership. I have an army at my disposal."

"Meh," said Gareth, "You pop their 'eads off and nothing even happens." He shook his head. "So sad."

"I have magic. I have *everything*."

"You don't have me," said Gareth. He said it casually, the way you might say "You don't have cheese." 

Madalena collected her thoughts. She snapped her fingers, producing in an instant a bandstand, a full set of vamping, liveried-soldier musicians, and some quite excellent rich, gauzy lighting. She cleared her throat, waited for the intro to build to a dominant-five chord, and presented her counter-argument.

    Song: "I Have Everything But You"  
    It's true  
    I have everything but you  
    I also have a whole robot army that fears and adores me, too

    It's great  
    I have riches by the crate  
    I have every kind of jewel and ring and I'll soon have the kingdom, just wait  
      
She trailed a finger along Gareth's jawline while she put on a mock-sad look.

    So why oh why  
    Would I ever cry  
    About some handsome, powerful guy?  
    When I have every other lovely thing but you?

    It's grand  
    I have magic in my hands  
    I have every kind of spell and enchantment, you fight me, you can't win, my friend

    So tell me why  
    Should I frown and pout  
    For you, you big, belligerent lout,  
    When I have every other lovely thing but you?

Suddenly, the music changed to a tango rhythm, and she pulled a surprised Gareth in for a brief dance.

    'cos who needs a gentle touch  
    When the world fears me so much?  
    And who needs a warm embrace  
    When I can smash anybody's face?  
    Who needs love? a kiss? romantic bliss?  
    When I've got evil powers?  
      
And then she twirled him away and raised her arms proudly, now alone under a spotlight.

    I'm definitely never feeling blue  
    'cos I've got every other lovely thing but you!

As the last chord faded, the lighting returned to normal and they picked up where they had left off. "Besides, why would I go back and work a job for a king," she said, marking every noun and verb with grimacing contempt, "when I can have the Dark, Dark Evil Castle? And all of its magic at my disposal?"

"You're at *its* disposal," said Gareth.

"What -- no. You're not listening," she said. "You *never* listen, and -- no."

"Do I *need* to be here for this?" asked Sid. "I could just --" he gestured vaguely at the entryway.

Madalena continued: "I said, 'all of its magic at my disposal'. Pretty cut-and-dried."

"That's the thing with magic, though, right?" asked Gareth, not really asking a question. "It's more powerful than us. It's like a big, unbroken stallion. You can ride it, and maybe it goes where you want it to for a while, but sooner or later it's got its own ideas."

"That was weirdly profound," said Sid.

"Shut up and stay out of this," said Madalena.

"Yeah, probably best," said Sid.

"And anyway, better a servant of the Dark Evil Way --"

"Dark, *Dark* --" said Sid. 

"SHUT UP AND STAY OUT OF THIS," said Madalena, snapping off every word. She tried to take a short, centering breath, but the dress cut it off at the halfway point. "Better a servant of the Dark, Dark Evil Way than bowing and scraping before some ditzy, magical-sword-grabbing king."

"At least I know who I serve," said Gareth.

For a split second, Madalena reeled, a "how *could* you?" look in her eyes. Then she composed herself, standing straight, tilting her head black, and sneering slightly. Then she spoke quite deliberately: "And I will *use* that power to exact a revenge upon your pitiful little kingdom the likes of which you peons have never seen!"

"See? Now this is what I was on about," said Sid. He walked to the center of the room. "King Richard may rule a peaceful kingdom, but it is a nation of warriors," said Sid, standing tall. "And I'm here to warn you. Do not cross a people who will not be swayed by fear. Who will not crumble under violence. Who --"

"Your king curls into a fetal position every time he sees an elephant," said Madalena.

"Once! That happened once!" said Sid.

Madalena strode towards Sid. Sid swallowed nervously. "And," said Madelena, "Those people *will* be swayed by fear. They *will* crumble under violence. They'll even do whatever the third thing was that you were about to say."

"It was --" started Sid.

"Don't care," she interrupted airily. "I'm going to destroy your entire kingdom." She turned towards Gareth with a coy smile. "Maybe... maybe you can try to retrieve the Snowflake Amulet from the Mountain of a Thousand Deaths. Maybe *that* is what would fend off this living nightmare." Now she rested her palm against Gareth's chest. "But you'd have to run night and day to reach it, and run full tilt to get back in time. And I think even then... you'd be too late." She folded her arms and smiled a razor-thin smile. "Yes," she said, "I'd like to see that very much. It would score some great numbers in the Dark, Dark Evil Demographic."

"You can do your worst," said Gareth, "but you didn't count on two things." He counted on his fingers. "One: I feel a deep kinship with the Jewish people. Two: my friend Sid has got access to MAGIC OIL."

The room went dead silent for three seconds. Madalena started to say one word, then stopped. She started to say another, then stopped. She turned to Sid, who gave an apologetic, "Where would I even get started with this?" shrug. Finally, she shook her head and pulled an ornate lever beside the altar.

The floor beneath Gareth and Sid hinged open.

The two men instantly plummeted down a chute, something hammered out of thin metal that let them slide, faster and faster, turning and twisting until an aperture dumped them out the side of the castle and facefirst -- Gareth, then Sid -- into the swamp that sat behind it.

Gareth immediately clambered to his feet. "All right," he said, "Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, I come to your castle and kill *everyone in it*." He staggered through the thick mud, heading back to the front entrance.

But then the castle lurched suddenly, and Gareth was knocked back down into the muck. A deep rumbling came from the earth. "Is this an earthquake?" asked Sid, who had read of such things in the ancient texts of Saint Andreas. Gareth had his broadsword out, and crouched low, looking in all directions for a threat.

They both slowly turned back towards the castle. They blinked, shook their heads, and finally grudgingly recognized that... the castle was rising up out of the ground. Its foundation was lifting up, shaking great looming clouds (and clods) of dirt loose in all directions. The deep bass rumble was joined by a loud scrape and whirr, and then, faintly at first, then clearer as some of the dust settled, gleaming, metalwork legs unhinged themselves beneath the structure, pushing the building ever further skyward.

Then the motion stopped. The dust had dispersed enough to darken the sky. The castle momentarily waited. Sid and Gareth stood perfectly still, waiting too. The castle took one step, and then another, aiming itself towards the endless red plains. And then, suddenly, the castle daintily ran away.

That was why they'd never found the Dark, Dark, Evil Castle. It had never stayed in one place.

"I never saw nothin' like that," said Gareth.

Sid grimaced slightly. "It's kind of plagiarizing Miyazaki."

Meanwhile, at the topmost Dark, Dark, Evil Balcony of the Dark, Dark, Evil Castle, Madalena leaned forward, like a wicked, tight-bodiced figurehead from an ominous ghost ship. The badlands sped by on either side, as they quickly approached an old stone circle. This was good. She was approaching the launching point right on schedule.

The castle slowed, and stopped, and clumsily hunched to the ground. She turned, and walked back inside, and shouted, loud enough that the whole castle rang, the three little words she had been longing to say all year:

"UNLEASH THE KRAMPUS!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Monster time! And that's it for chapter five. Chapter six drops on Wednesday! In the meantime, please share this with any Galavant fans in your lives. (There are dozens of us! DOZENS!) And if you haven’t seen the show and are somehow reading this fanfic anyway, wow, thanks! Do check out the series on netflix.]


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Galavant and Isabella hear that trouble is on the way, while Roberta is just checking out holiday decorations... or is she?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Okay, when we left off, Madalena had unleashed a giant monster! Eeeee!]

Well, that last chapter was certainly exciting. I'd be keen to stick around and see what happens next, if I were you.

In the meantime: buying things! That's nice, isn't it? Imagine a rugged-looking car vrooming slow-motion through muddy ground, or a cleaning solvent that makes a kitchen look especially shiny, or a drug that apparently enables you to walk hand-in-hand with a loved one through a field of long and gently swaying grass. All of those could likely be purchased very easily at your local car store, or solvent store, or medicine store, and make you very happy.

Meanwhile, back in the story ("Finally," said the readers who'd read the preceding paragraph), the sun set behind Valencia's Seaside Castle, tinting its white walls faintly orange and shimmering warm tones off of the Valenian Ocean. It was a structure after the classical Valencine style, with mosaics inlaid into the its courtyard walls, and ornately curled arches and windows, and towers with rounded tops like dollops of cream. And, as it wasn't the main capitol at Valentine Hall (not a tremendous variety of names, in Valencia), it was a small-ish castle. It had been built to be just big enough for the viceroy of Seaside Province, back when that position had still been a thing, before said viceroy went crazy and replaced all his courtiers with elaborately-outfitted cats.

Ah. Getting off-topic.

All this meant that the Seaside Castle was a perfect place for Isabella to get away to. It had been her favorite place in the world as a child, and it was still her favorite place now that she was the ruling queen of Valencia, the southernmost of the Seven Kingdoms. So whenever the demands of state abated, she and her new husband immediately fled to the coast. And Isabella had arranged her schedule so that the "demands of state" abated right at Christmastime. And so the main hall had a lazy-looking palm tree with a star attached to the top and two neatly-wrapped presents underneath, and the main doors, thrown open wide with a perfect view of the sea, were lined with tinsel.

And there in the middle, framed like it was a painting, was Galavant. Her assistant, her travelling companion, her frenemy... and then her love... and now her husband. In the warm afternoon light, the ocean breeze tousling his hair, he looked as sweet and as dashing as the day she'd first glimpsed him -- the sort of piercing blue eyes and devil-may-care smile that you'd expect with a knight from the old tales, and the sort of classy, classical profile that even a powerful casting director would approve of.

Galavant looked up and smiled at her. Isabella realized she'd been grinning and staring for the last minute.

They sang in neat harmony.

Song: Storybook Marriage  
A storybook marriage for you and for me  
The way that it is is the way it should be  
And our ever after is happy and good  
A storybook ending that's well understood  
A storybook marriage forever for us

A couple of nearby guards noticed the singing and rolled their eyes. But Isabella and Galavant continued:

    A storybook marriage for you and for me  
    Peace and affection is all that we see  
    No misunderstandings to send us astray  
    Just sleeping, content, at the end of each day  
    A storybook marriage forever for us

    When you find the One  
        And with one make two  
    When adventures end  
        And I stay with you  
    When the story's done  
        And we saw it through  
    When you finally win

One guard made a subtle 'gagging' gesture. The other stifled a laugh.

    A storybook marriage for you and for me  
    The way that it is is the way it should be  
    A storybook marriage forever for us

"Well," said Galavant, "what should we do tonight?"

"Oh," said Isabella. "I guess... stay at home? That would be the normal thing."

"Right," said Galavant. "Enjoy our 'happily ever after'," he said.

"We can sit by the ocean!" said Isabella. "And watch the sun set!" she said. "Again."

Three hours later, the sun had set and they were both fast asleep in recliners along the beach. A guard stood at a respectful distance, wanting to get them to the safety of the castle, but knowing that waking them up was beyond his station.

Galavant's doublet glowed.

Or, more precisely, it *blinked*, flashing several times with warm red light, making a little chirping sound at the same time. Then it went silent and dark. Then it chirped to life again. Isabella groaned slightly, reached a hand out, and mashed her hand clumsily against Galavant's face. Then it went dark again. It came to life a third time, and Galavant awoke, yawned, and pulled the sizeable Communication Ruby from inside his coat. He stared into its facets, confused.

"Sid?"

And there, staring back at him from the depths of the magical gemstone, connected across far-reaching distance, was Sid, his trusty squire. Trusty *former* squire, more precisely. And perhaps not trusty, as Sid had once stabbed Galavant to death, but that was just a one-off accident. And besides, Galavant got better.

"Galavant! Thank god!"

Several minutes later, the ruby was wedged in a pile of rocks some distance away, and Galavant was pacing beside it, absently tossing pebbles into the surf.

"So technically I'm listed as the 'Queen's Consort', but I've picked up a number of governmental responsibilities," said Galavant.

"What's going on?" asked Sid. "Why can I only see rocks?" The reason, of course, was 'because the ruby was jammed into a pile of rocks, facing the wrong way.' "Galavant!"

Galavant continued monologuing a leisurely update about life in Valencia.

"Mainly I provide advice on heroic and chivalrous conduct," he said. "I suppose we learned a thing or two about that, right? Back in our adventuring days."

"Gareth, help! I think he's put me in a stupid pile of rocks!" said Sid, muffled by the stupid pile of rocks.

Then Gareth's voice boomed out, as malevolent as always: "GALAVANT!" The rocks shook slightly.

Galavant stopped mid-reminisce. "Gareth?" he asked. He wandered over and picked up the ruby. "What're you doing there?"

In the depths of the Crystal, Gareth lurched out of frame and Sid popped back in. "Galavant. This is a very expensive transmission. I'm not calling to talk about old times."

"Ah," said Galavant with a wan smile. "Old times. They were magical, weren't they?" He picked up another smooth stone and started wandering back to the surf.

"Focus, Galavant! The kingdom is in mortal danger." At the words 'mortal danger', Galavant snapped out of his nostalgia. "Our friends are in danger. We need your help. You have to go to the Mountain of --"

And then Sid's face disappeared.

"What -- where? Mountain of what? The Mountain of Jagged Peaks? The Mountain of Sloths? The Mountain of Ever-Mounting Puns? The Mountain of Brooding Antiheroes Looking Out Over Landscapes?" He sighed in exasperation. "THERE'S LIKE FIFTY OF THEM," he shouted at the empty gem.

The ruby blinked on again. In its depths, a kindly old woman in a brightly-lit room appeared.

"Hel-lo!" said the woman in a plummy posh accent. "I'm Lady Adsins, I help maintain magical artifacts."

"What... happened to Sid?" asked Galavant.

Lady Adsins went blithely on with her speech. "As such, I listen in on all ruby-based communications -- "

"Wait, what?" muttered Galavant.

"-- for certain 'key words'. It looks like you're interested in --" she checked a sheet of paper, "-- 'mountains'!"

"My Lady, I must speak to my trusty squire -- er, former trusty squire -- well, former squire --"

"Perhaps you'd be interested in" -- she held up a flagon of liquid -- "Mountain Spring Water? It's guaranteed to have 50% fewer deadly digestive-tract parasites than regular water."

"Lady Adsins --"

"'Mountain Spring Water: Hardly *anyone* craps in it'!"

"Lady Adsins, please. My friend is in grave danger."

"Aha -- "

"Yes," said Galavant.

"-- it looks like you're interested in 'raves'!"

"No," sighed Galavant.

"The Enchanted Forest stands rock-hard and ready-for-action for all your party needs --"

"My Lady. Please. If you stop doing this and reconnect me to my friend, I will... buy all of your products. In bulk."

Lady Adsins put down the marketing copy for the Enchanted Forest and thought for a moment. "But how much could you buy?"

"I work in the government," said Galavant.

A moment later, the happy posh woman disappeared, and Sid reappeared, in a state of some agitation.

"NO I DON'T NEED TO BUY ANY PIGEONS I HATE YOU," he was saying. Isabella walked in on that moment, blearily rubbing sleep from her eyes.

"Why are people trying to sell you pigeons?" Isabella asked with a yawn.

"Sid! We're back. Just... tell us what mountain we need to go to."

Sid winced apologetically. "The Mountain of a Thousand Deaths?" he said, uptalking the phrase into a question.

Isabella pouted. "Why can't we ever have a quest to the 'sloths' mountain?"

\--

Redoubt Hill looked dazzling.

Some men, Roberta decided, led lives like there were doors continually closing. What's that? You never learned to ride a galloping horse? Well, it's too late now, and besides, you're too old to learn. What good would it even do you, working as a baker? (Not that you *are* a baker. Just, for purposes of the example, you're a baker.) So that door closes, firmly shut, forever, and life, over time, grows smaller and smaller, narrower and narrower, until at the end, the baker is trapped in one tiny little room, before even that disappears, and the old baker along with it.

And then there were men like Richard who, as the years went by, kept finding new doors to open. As a misguided, villainous tyrant, he was cared for hand and foot, and learned nothing but the depths of his own caprices. But then, once all that was taken away, the world seemed to become new for him. Suddenly, Richard was learning the basics of swordfighting, then he was learning the rigging of a pirate ship, then how to orient in the woods like a ranger -- all of it was by necessity, not choice, but it had, by all reports, changed the man.

Now, when Richard pottered through the castle library learning every dusty fact about dragons, simply because he'd adopted a pet lizard, well, it made sense. And now, he was learning to build landscapes, with the same giddy enthusiasm he had for everything else.

"And then," he said, "the path leads out here, and opens out to..."

He spread his arms and grinned at her, though perhaps only Roberta could have seen the hint of a worried question in the king's eyes.

"It's wonderful," answered Roberta, and meant it. There were still craftsmen moving piles of dirt, and artisans arranging decorations, but you could see what Redoubt Hill was going to be: the massive Christmas firs planted in the earth, the stylized pillars of the menorah with its first two signals already ablaze with torchlight, and... elsewhere, the Hooded Figures of T'Koth were having harsh words about exactly *how* their section of the pavilion should look, and what sort of goat they were supposed to have.

Beyond all that, the castle town sat nestled in the valley, looking, from a distance, like a gorgeously detailed children's toy.

A cat meowed faintly in the distance.

Roberta cocked her ear to the sound.

The hooded-figure argument was getting quite heated, prompting a theatrical sigh from Richard. "Go talk to them," Roberta said, more permission than a command. Richard hurried across the pavilion. The cat meowed again, and Roberta walked, smoothly and quickly, back the way they'd came, darting into the woods at the last moment.

Instantly, the thick, old-growth canopy blocked out the sun, and Roberta found herself facing two figures visible only in silhouette. A cat uneasily backed away from Roberta and scurried towards the figure on the left. The one on the right appeared to be knitting.

"Thank you for traveling so quickly," said the queen. The two figures inclined their heads towards her.

"We may have a problem," said Roberta.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Ominous-figures time! And that's it for chapter six. Chapter seven drops on Friday! In the meantime, please share this with any Galavant fans in your lives. (There are dozens of us! DOZENS!) And if you haven’t seen the show and are somehow reading this fanfic anyway, wow, thanks! Do check out the series on netflix.]


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, at the northern wall that is completely different from any northern wall you may have previously heard of, the monster makes its first appearance!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This is chapter 7 of The Galavant Holiday Special, a fanfic I'm releasing through the month of December. I'm posting new bite-sized chapters every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, right up to Christmas Day.]
> 
> [Okay, when we left off, Roberta had met with some ominous figures to deal with the as-yet-mysterious oncoming threat...]

Chapter Seven

Now, I know the question you must be thinking at this point: "Narrator, you mentioned those 'Northern Battlements' that they were sending the soldiers to. Why would there be any Northern Battlements at all?" And it's a fair question. No matter how the geography of the kingdoms varies with narrative convenience, there is not, nor has ever been, a threat to the north of the Seven Kingdoms. It's just hills and hills of frigid pines, with at best a few isolated populations of eskimos, who have always been quite happy to be left alone, content to have fascinating adventures in the lands of snow and ice.

But centuries ago, King Bedlam the Quite Obviously Mad had ordered the massive construction of a great keep in the north, a wall with crenelations and oil cauldrons and archery towers and, for some reason, a portcullis that could serve no possible purpose. And you might think that the name alone answers your question neatly -- "the Northern Battlements exist because a mad king ordered them built".

But it goes a bit deeper than that.

King Bedlam was, in fact, rather canny, and, in his troubled rulership, he insisted to the kingdom's peasants, who were on the brink of a four-way civil war, that they needed protection from "the monsters to the north". And he meant literal monsters, spinning tales of great ice-dragons, and slavering packs of ice-wolves, and well-fed armies of soldiers in the thrall of the wicked mesmerist Hyathull. None of those creatures existed, and "Hyathull" was just an involuntary noise the king had made during a battle speech, but it still served its purpose: everyone put aside their differences and built a pointless wall.

What might have been a monstrous act directed against a sovereign nation was instead a clever bit of statecraft directed against nobody. The peasants put aside their differences, they built the Northern Battlements, and peace reigned until fifteen years later, when King Bedlam tried to settle a long-standing dispute with Allyata Sana with an ill-fated dance-off that resulted in both his death and his nickname.

But that's another story.

Back in our story ("Finally," said everyone reading the last paragraphs), the Northern Battlements stayed up, decade after decade, a place to dispatch troublesome, paranoia-minded soldiers who needed to be taken out of polite company. In times of civil strife, it was well-staffed and well-maintained, usually by wild-eyed soldiers who whiled away the tedious hours comparing notes on elaborate conspiracy theories. Eventually, the craziest of them would gather in small scouting parties into the north that were summarily killed by the happy, independent eskimo populations, who really were quite keen on being left alone.

In stretches of peace, the Northern Battlements fell into the sort of attractive disrepair they were in now: vines climbing the old walls, dead leaves drifting along the watchwalks, and the feeling that the old northern pine barrens were slowly taking back their own.

But this was the first time the main army had occupied the battlements since they were built -- so the picturesque ruin was well-stocked with soldiers. A few of them stood at an archery station, staring out at the vast nothing to the north, all hills of snowy pine forests as far as the eye could see.

The tallest of them, a scrawny man with a pop-eyed, nervous look, was telling the other two a story. "I swear, ghost of the king's dead father, walking the battlements," he said.

Rachel and Marcy both made a noise somewhere between a groan and a scoff.

"Ugh. Sounds like nothing but trouble, Bernard," said Rachel.

"Exactly -- so far above my pay grade," said Marcy.

Bernard nodded emphatically, and started counting on his fingers. "Zombies: yes. Monsters: yes. Ghosts?"

"Right out," said the Rachel, with Marcy nodding emphatically in solidarity.

"So if we see him, y'know, spookling along," continued Bernard, "we just walk the other way."

"Not today, Mr. Ghosty. Not today," said Rachel.

And everyone seemed satisfied with that.

Then Bernard heard something -- it was faint, just at the edge of perception. He cocked his head to one side and concentrated.

"What's that, Bernard?" Marcy asked. "Some kind of bird?"

"No," said Rachel, aiming her head north, cupping her ears, and squinting. "It's... it's..."

"Sleigh bells!" said Bernard.

This was odd, as the dispirited bell-ringer was still back at King Richard's castle (and was, as a side benefit, unable to quibble with the narrator).

And there, in the distance, moving along the northern horizon, they saw it.

It was far away, but the basic structure was clear: a long, red sleigh, and creatures galloping ahead on the empty air, southward towards the battlements. And there was a fat figure sitting in the sleigh and working the reins.

"Santa!" said Marcy. "He's real!"

Bernard smiled wide, his eyes wet. "I knew. All these years I knew."

Rachel said, "Oy."

A great cheer went up among the soldiers! They had expected a boring dispatchment to what their tactical knight had called "the dull end of nowhere", but no. This scouting mission wouldn't be like that at all. No, it was going to be MAGICAoh wait.

When the first explosion hit, they all assumed that someone was attacking the sleigh. A giant plume of flame lit up from the hillside, and a split-second later the "CRACK" of the explosion whipped through the air. Everyone instinctively gripped a weapon, and watched, and waited.

A bit closer, they could see the action more clearly. The figure in the sleigh threw something into the air -- something small, and shiny -- and it tumbled down to the ground. When it landed, another explosion lit up the snow, louder this time.

An old wizened soldier pointed a trembling finger towards the sleigh. "I knew it!" he wheezed. "I knew there were monsters out there."

"Cool it, Old Jeb," said Rachel. "Nobody needs to hear your whacked-out monster theories."

"Yeah, that's just what the Man wants you to think," said Old Jeb.

But nobody marked him, because the sleigh was even closer.

"That is definitely not Santa," said Marcy.

The figure in the sleigh was not 'fat' but 'massive' -- a giant, goatlike creature with a great, curved horns. Its eyes were reflective vertical slits. It opened its mouth wide, revealing a collection of fangs so long that you couldn't readily imagine how they could all fit into its mouth in the first place. It unfurled a long tongue that tapered to a point, and the creature made a keening sound somewhere halfway between laughter and scraping metal.

And the creatures driving the sleigh were no reindeer, either. They were, instead, insect-like creatures, each with a dozen chitinous, multihinged legs, bodies like a few onions strung together, and an unsettling preponderance of eyes at the fronts of their heads. They glistened black in the sunlight, smooth as polished mirrors.

Bernard turned to his two companions. "Monsters: yes?" he asked.

"Monsters: yes," said Rachel.

Bernard raised his sword. "HOLD THE LINE," he shouted, with no real authority to do so.

Old Jeb was already scampering towards an exit. He stopped and looked back, wincing. "Really?" he asked.

Marcy unsheathed her weapon, a wicked-looking scimitar. "HOLD THE LINE," she repeated.

"But it's scary!" came a voice from down the battlements.

Finally, Rachel aimed her bow and notched an arrow. "HOLD!" she shouted.

"Forget that," came another voice, and soon a mass of soldiers was dashing through exits, scampering down staircases, and starting south, straight for the river they'd have to cross to return to the kingdom.

It was clear at this point that Krampus -- yes, the soldiers didn't know it was Krampus yet, but we know, right? I mean, we saw that earlier scene with Madalena, and it's not like there would be a completely unrelated monster showing up after a setup like that. This isn't amateur-hour storytelling here, people. ("Are you sure about that?" asked the readers who had read the preceding chapters.)

So it's easier to call the thing what it is: Krampus.

Krampus was throwing brightly-colored wrapped gifts from his sleigh. Many of the presents blasted apart on impact in massive, fiery explosions. But other gifts did... other things. One seemed to blow apart with purple slime that then sizzled against the ground and the nearby trees. Another flew open to reveal a small swarm of bees. And so on and so on, closer and closer to the battlements until it was almost on top of them.

And then, Krampus was flying his sleigh right over the three soldiers. Bernard and Marcy swung wildly with their swords, but the beast was too far overhead to reach. Rachel squinted, aimed carefully, and loosed her arrow. The arrow arced into the air and sliced neatly through the harness of the front left 'reindeer' -- the strange insect toppled end over end, collided with the creature behind it, and was kicked to a pulp by its sleighmates. Bernard and Marcy cheered as the faux-reindeer dropped from the sky, leaving the sleigh going just a bit slower and perpetually listing to the right.

"All right," said Rachel. "We move south, then. And keep fighting it."

"And send our swiftest horses ahead of us," said Marcy, "to warn the king!"

"Oh dear," said Bernard.

Because at that moment, the Krampus was flying over the river that ran just behind the battlements -- south of the keep, running east to west. And a whole passel of presents was flying from the sleigh, each one aimed at a different spot along the river. All of them, dozens and dozens of them, all landed at once.

Nothing happened.

Bernard let out a breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding in.

Then the entire river exploded in flames. The water itself was burning with a strange, greenish fire, burning hundreds of feet tall.

Rachel thought a moment, and then tried firing an arrow at it. As soon as the arrow reached the flames, it flared like a match, and then there was just a few clumps of ash dropping through the sky on the near side of the strange conflagration.

"Or we could be stuck here," said Rachel. "Bollocks."

"Who can save King Richard now?" asked Bernard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Who, indeed? And that's it for chapter seven. Chapter eight drops on Monday! With singing! In the meantime, please share this with any Galavant fans in your lives. (There are dozens of us! DOZENS!) And if you haven’t seen the show and are somehow reading this fanfic anyway, wow, thanks! Do check out the series on netflix.]


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With THE KRAMPUS hell-bent on reaching the castle, Galavant and Isabella try to track down the only weapon that can possibly stop it...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This is chapter 8 of The Galavant Holiday Special, a fanfic I'm releasing through the month of December. I'm posting new bite-sized chapters every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, right up to Christmas Day.]
> 
> [Okay, when we left off, THE KRAMPUS had breezed past the Northern Battlements and flown straight off to King Richard's castle...]

Chapter Eight

At that very moment, Galavant and Isabella were dodging a tree.

Yes, I know, trees are stationary. They're not the usual things that you dodge. But this tree had been ripped from the earth, tilted sideways, and physically hurled at the Queen and her married consort. So they gamely dropped to the ground, let the old oak trunk fly overhead, crash against the ground behind them, and begin rolling the long, long way down the Mountain of a Thousand Deaths.

Obviously, we've skipped over some things here. Let me backtrack. 

It had all begun with a parrot.

The parrot had soared through the sea air, made a lazy circle of the beach, and landed neatly in front of Isabella and Galavant. It was a large parrot, with asymmetrical coloring on its face that made it look like it was wearing a monocle. This was why its owners had named it "Lord Birdington", but now we're really drilling down into useless details. You can, of course, find out more about this creature in the spin-off sequel to this story: "Lord Birdington: Bird of Action, Bird of Danger", available soon on an Internet near you.

Anyway. Lord Birdington fluffed his wings and actually imitated the sound of clearing its throat.

"That bird seems weirdly interested in us," said Isabella.

"And somehow... pompous?" said Galavant.

"They regret to inform you that they are too expensive for your adventure," said the parrot.

Galavant and Isabella looked confused.

("Good lord, so are we!" said the readers.)

Yes, I've bungled this up. Let's backtrack *again*, to an earlier scene.

"Doing it ourselves would be madness," said Isabella.

Okay, you may *think* you need context here, but you really don't. This was right where we left off, after Sid had told them about the Mountain of a Thousand Deaths. Okay, feel free to go back to the earlier chapters. I can wait. 

Did you re-read what you needed to? Great. Moving on: this was right after Sid had told them about the Mountain of a Thousand Deaths, and Isabella had in fact, said, "Doing it ourselves would be madness" out of nowhere, breaking a long silent pause, where she and her husband both stared out at the ocean waves under the moonlight.

Galavant turned to face her. "Madness," he agreed. "Of course."

"I mean, the Mountain of a Thousand Deaths is only half-a-day's ride from here," said Isabella -- and she was right. The Seaside Castle was right near the Mountain of a Thousand Deaths, just one of the many odd geographic proximities for which Valencia is so well-known.

"And it is vitally important we retrieve the amulet as soon as possible," added Galavant.

"But I'm a queen," she said, "and you're a --" she gestured vaguely, "-- queen's husband, consort, thingy."

"And the entire adventure is fraught with danger," said Galavant.

They stepped towards each other, a little bit at a time, as they spoke.

"Monsters," said Isabella.

"Perils," said Galavant.

"Natural disasters," said Isabella.

"Heart-racing threats," said Galavant.

They both sighed, and soft music began to play.

    Song: "Married People Don't Kill Monsters"  
    A quest brought us together  
    In our headlong younger days  
    Through giants, jousts, and pirates  
    All a crazy, breathless phase

    It's true that when you're single  
    You adventure all around  
    But once you go get married  
    Then it's time to settle down.

The last chord faded away to silence, and then a jaunty melody piped up.

    Married people don't kill monsters  
    Or fight angry hordes  
    They don't brawl in battles  
    They don't brandish swords  
    They never truck with grand heroics or  
    With any derring-do  
    'cos that is not what proper married people do.

    They don't   
    They can't  
    They won't

    Married people don't kill monsters  
    Or go where monsters are  
    They don't climb up mountains  
    They don't travel far

    They never go to monster lairs  
    They never follow monster tracks  
    They never pull on monster hairs  
    They never block monster attacks

    They never go on grand adventures or  
    A daring rendezvous  
    'cos that is not what proper married people do.

    They don't  
    Just no  
    Not even a bit.  
    That is not what married people do.

"So, you don't want to do it, right?" asked Isabella.

"What? Nooo. No!" replied Galavant, saying every word at a different pitch.

So having agreed upon agreeing, they sent their fastest sea-courier with a message to the only adventurers experienced enough, brave enough, and, well, nearby enough by to climb the Mountain of a Thousand Deaths and retrieve the Snowflake Amulet: the kingdom's pirates, aboard their great pirate ship, docked on Pirate Island in the Pirate Bay. Pirates, like Valencians, were not especially keen on creative nomenclature. Apart from their parrot, Lord Birdington, whom they dispatched to Galavant and Isabella with all speed.

Okay, that finishes that flashback.

Meanwhile, back at the parrot, Lord Birdington stared unblinkingly back at Galavant and Isabella, who were both, for the moment, too confused for words.

"The pirates!" the parrot squawked suddenly. "The pirates!" Lord Birdington repeated, sounding for all the world like he was chastising the queen and queen's husband. "The *pirates* regret to inform you that they are too expensive for your adventure," he said.

"Ohhhhh," said both Isabella and Galavant. It was not a complete surprise. The Pirate King had become vastly successful, and thus, far too in-demand for any small-scale, low-budget adventures in their kingdom.

"It would be just ridiculous to go on the adventure ourselves," said Isabella.

"Oh, of course," said Galavant.

"This is our happily ever after! There are no more adventures in a happily ever after!"

"No!" agreed Galavant. "Just a lot of... staying at home." The words came out as a bit of a sigh. They both looked down at the sand, momentarily despondent.

"But..." said Isabella.

Galavant nodded. "We may *have* to."

"Not that we want to," said Isabella.

"Oh, of course not. But Richard's kingdom is at stake, and there's nobody else that's as qualified to save it," said Galavant.

"So we go on an adventure. Just this once. One exception," said Isabella.

"Yes!" cried Galavant, who then composed himself and said "Yes." in a more businesslike tone.

The bird cleared his throat again.

"Oh, right," Galavant said, embarrassed. He checked his pockets, found a piece of hardtack, and threw it to the bird's feet. The bird ate up his tip, inclined his head to them both, and flapped away.

\--

Okay, back to the present, with Isabella and Galavant ducking the tree. I really should have just started where we left off and moved forward from there. From here on out, if you promise to read everything in order, I'll do my best to tell it in order and everything should be fine. Cool? Cool.

So this is why Isabella and Galavant were sitting under a rocky overhang, watching a tree trunk barrel down the mountainside behind them and smash through some of the dangers the two had already faced. The tree ripped through one of the rope-webs of the Spiders of Impossible Size. The deadly Riddle-Song Griffin flapped its leathery wings and flew out of the tree's path just in time. In the far distance, as the incline flattened out and the tree slowed down, they could just barely see a flurry of Tree Octopi drop onto it, only to leap off again when they realized it wasn't a tasty adventurer.

And then on the tree rumbled, disappearing in the distant snowfall.

Now, this is normally where I would go back and provide backstory for the troll, but I will abide by my promise to tell things in order. So: I will just describe the troll as it existed in the current scene.

The troll was about twelve feet tall, human in shape, composed of rocks and trees and river water, and very angry. One might conclude that he was made of the actual materials of the mountain. One might further conclude that there had been so much anger and spite directed at the Mountain of a Thousand Deaths that a rogue emotomancer had been able to use those feelings to raise a powerful golem from the mountain itself. And one might finally conclude that, as is usual for trolls, it was so filled with rage that it passed the time lashing out at rogue adventurers who wandered near to its lair.

But that would be telling things out of order, so: just guesswork, people!

("Get on with it!" said the readers. Quite.)

"You saw the amulet?" asked Isabella, catching her breath and grinning.

Galavant nodded. "The cave!" he said.

Indeed, trolls are big and violent but not particularly smart, and this one had put its most prized possession -- a bright, shining amulet -- on top of a rough pyramid of stones just inside of its cave. The amulet was plainly visible, a gleaming white snowflake that shone brightly against the dark background.

"You get the amulet," Isabella said. "I'll distract it."

"You're sure?" Galavant smiled roguishly, which is completely acceptable to the Rogue's Guild, as they'd surely explain to you in deep, blustery voices. "I *am* rather good at fighting trolls."

"No," she said. "I want this." And in that moment, her eyes gleaming, her skin aglow, and her clothing sensible and fit for extensive movement, she looked less like a queen, stuffy and regal and constricted, and more like... herself.

They both looked excited. Happy. Eager to see what would happen next. The troll bellowed, but the two of them stole that moment to look deeply into each other's eyes.

And then, dear readers, they kissed. They kissed the way young lovers do, deeply and passionately and well worthy of fanfic.

And the they turned around, leapt together over the rocks, and flew right back into battle. The troll whirled around, bringing a massive fist down towards Isabella when -- clang! Galavant brought the full weight of his two-handed broadsword (exquisitely made, perfectly balanced, and clearly, and tragically, never used until now) straight to the troll's midsection. The sword bounced back from the troll's armor, but the troll staggered back, too. The troll's fist, knocked off-course, slammed into the ground, and a geyser of dirt shot into the air where it landed. Then, he turned his enraged yellow eyes on Galavant.

The troll snarled and slowly advanced, ape-like, on his knees and knuckles. Galavant swung blow after blow at the beast, but the creature didn't even seem to notice now, and Galavant was clearly tiring. Then, with terrifying quickness, the troll reached out a hand, grabbed Galavant, and pinned him to rocky wall by his neck. Galavant gasped airlessly, his toes dangling and reaching for the ground beneath. With his last strength, he raised his sword... and then it weakly slumped, and fell from his hands.

Just as it the sword clattered on the ground, Isabella let out an ululating battle cry! And with that, a gleaming metal disk streaked towards the troll. Galavant's eyes brightened, and he momentarily grinned while still clawing fruitlessly at the troll's wrist.

Then the disk went right over the troll's head.

Galavant frowned.

Then it bounced off a tree.

Galavant frowned more.

Then it ricocheted a pile of boulders high overhead.

Galavant's face settled into a neutral, "well, let's wait and see" expression.

The boulders rocked in place from the impact.

Galavant looked impatient -- which made sense, since he was literally dying up there.

The pile of boulders then pitched forward and fell, arcing like a diver down, down, down, and then, slamming into the troll's huge, misshapen head.

For a moment, the troll's hand stayed right where it was.

Galavant's face took on an incredulous, "Are you *kidding* me?" expression. 

And then the troll collapsed on the ground.

Behind him stood Isabella, grinning as she neatly plucked the disk, still moving, from the air.

"That was" -- Galavant gasped. He cleared his throat. "That was amazing! Where did you even find that?"

"It was a present," she said. "From when that wildly anachronistic warrior princess visited."

They stood there a moment, looking into each other's eyes.

"I missed this," he said.

"Me too," she said.

    Song: Storybook Marriage (Reprise)  
    A storybook marriage is all good and well  
    But not when that story's from somebody else  
    Those stories are things better suited for shelves  
    The best one for us is what we write ourselves  
    A storybook marriage forever for us

The troll lay splayed across the clearing, his head to one side.

One eye eased open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [But... no! Look out! Troll! And that's it for chapter eight. Chapter nine drops on Monday! In the meantime, please share this with any Galavant fans in your lives. (There are dozens of us! DOZENS!) And if you haven’t seen the show and are somehow reading this fanfic anyway, wow, thanks! Do check out the series on netflix.]


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a brief side-trip into troll backstory, an unexpected force arrives to defend King Richard's castle from the terrifying KRAMPUS.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This is chapter 9 of The Galavant Holiday Special, a fanfic I'm releasing through the month of December. I'm posting new bite-sized chapters every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, right up to Christmas Day.]
> 
> [Okay, when we left off, Isabella and Galavant had obtained a magical artifact by defeating a troll. Or did they? "Defeat the troll," I mean. The artifact, they pretty decisively got. Anyway...]

The troll lay splayed across the clearing, his head to one side. One eye eased open.

Now normally, this would be the time for ominous strings in the background and a reverse shot of our two heroes walking away oblivious to the bad guy waking up.

But instead, a single tear welled in that troll's eye, rolled down his cheek, and froze.

And to explain that, we simply must have a flashback. I know, I know, I promised no flashbacks, but I swear to you, this will be brief, clear, and directly relevant to the scene at hand.

Specifically, we must flash back to when the troll *received* the amulet. Yes, you'd think he stole it, murdering some royal retinue or beating down some earth elemental and wresting the glittering prize from diamond chains because it was shiny. But no, you're thinking of more of a 'dragon' thing there.

Easy mistake.

No, this was when Xanax the Magical Apothecary had made his way all the way to the summit of the mountain.

"And you may be wondering, 'What, this mountain is evil and all... you know, 'death-y', why's this guy even here?'" said Xanax.

The troll growled.

"The bottom line is, I've got all the magical whatsits that'll make it easy for you to actualize your kill-all-adventurers business model." He spoke the words awkwardly, like someone had made him memorize it. Xanax grinned. The troll waited.

"One sec," said Xanax, and he dragged a massive chest ("This was heavy, no mistake," he muttered) to the center of the clearing, opened it, and pulled out a tiny marble. "Like this standard annoyer, right?" he said. "Sticks to any adventurer, can't be removed, and every five to ten seconds it does *this*" -- he held it to its ear, grinned, and waited expectantly. Nothing happened. He made some 'wait for it' gestures, and then the item made a blaringly-loud, broken-sounding "BLEEuhp". 

"Eh? Like that! Forever. The adventurers will be barmy by the time they're even halfway up."

The troll groaned.

"Or this?" asked Xanax, pulling out a pair of tinted lenses, both shaped to look like beer steins. "Ah! Beer goggles!" he said, laughing at his own joke while the troll stared back impassively. "Eh, more of a novelty item, or..." Xanax trailed off while tossing it back.

Xanax rummaged around and pulled out what looked like an ordinary apple. He explained exactly how it was poisoned, and how the poison worked, and explained, with lots of gesturing, its exact effect on any adventurer. But the troll heard none of this, because a gleam of white from the corner of the chest had caught his eye.

The trolled raised a massive, knobbly hand and pointed. He grunted interrogatively.

"Oh that?" Xanax said, obviously disappointed. "It's a trinket."

The troll grunted again, and hit his fist on the ground. It made Xanax jump.

"Aright, aright, we can have a look," he said, pulling a shiny, glassy snowflake from beneath a few jars of "Truth Ether" ("guaranteed to have any party of adventurers at each other's throats within five minutes!"). He held it up. "But it doesn't really *do* anyth--"

Then Xanax stopped midsentence, his eyes rolled back in his head, and a deep, guttural voice issued forth from him. "THE SNOWFLAKE AMULET IS ALL-POWERFUL," he intoned. "POSSESS IT AND KNOW THE MEANING OF TRUE LOVE."

The troll growled, since obviously, as a creature born of the mountain's endless hate, *he* could have no knowledge of such things. Right?

"TRUE LOOOOVE," the unearthly voice repeated. "TRUUUE LOOand I can get you the herbs at a discount, y'know, take the edge of all that trolling."

And so the troll had bartered a pile of useless cave gold for the trinket, and years went by, and the amulet did absolutely nothing at all. The troll began biting the heads off of adventurers a bit more bitterly than before, and he resolved to never trust strange prophetic voices ever again. He would never know the meaning of anything, let alone true love.

But there, lying nearly dead on the ground, and watching Galavant and Isabella through one half-lidded eye -- in that moment, he did.

The tear froze on his cold cheek unnoticed, as Galavant and Isabella found the conveniently-placed ski equipment on the far side of the clearing and made their way directly down the far side of the Mountain of a Thousand Deaths, speeding past the caves of firebats and skimming over the top of the Labyrinth of Deadly Madness.

A surprisingly short hike later, they found their way back to their horses. Galavant held up the amulet, and looked at it in the weak winter sunlight. "It's beautiful," he said.

Isabella got on her horse. "If we ride full-tilt to King Richard's castle, we might just make it in time." She sighed. "And then what?"

Galavant grinned at her, looking heroic and a little bit dangerous. Isabella found herself smiling bashfully at her own husband. "We'll sort it out when we get there," he said.

\--

It was a cold night with a clear sky and a bright moon. King Richard sat at a small work table with a flagon of hot cider. Tad Cooper, the lizard that the king had repeatedly claimed --

"He's a *dragon*," King Richard corrected.

\-- indeed, would *insist* was actually a dragon at every opportunity -- sat on the small work table, staring impassively at a saucer of hot cider.

"Now, Tad Cooper," he said, all business, "I don't know how they celebrate Christmas in the land of dragons. But I'd be remiss as a father if I didn't introduce you to how *we* do it."

Tad Cooper blinked, turned his head, and eyed the nearby window for bugs.

He motioned with the flagon. "The beverages -- cider, mulled wine, eggnog -- that's just part of the... well, I'll just say it: *magic*." As King Richard spoke, the faint sound of sleigh bells emerged in the distance. "The spirit of generosity, of community..." And this was odd, the sleigh bells ringing, given that the bell-ringer had been dispatched into the town on official business. Richard continued, "... of looking beyond yourself to what's really important." Tad Cooper stood up suddenly, eyeing something out the window.

Richard followed his gaze... and gasped! He broke into a beatific smile, and a tear welled in the corner of his eye. "I knew he was real!" he said.

For indeed, there in the distance, silhouetted against the moon, was a fat, surely-jolly figure in a sleigh, pulled along by a team of prancing creatures.

Strings welled in the background, and Richard stepped forward to sing:

    Song: No One Is Alone On Christmas Day  
    When Christmas --

CRASH! It was at that moment that the first firebomb smashed into a nearby hillside. Flames licked the air, the sled team made a metallic, keening sound, and Richard peered closer at the flying visitors.

"Wait a minute," said Richard. "That's not Santa at all!"

Indeed it wasn't -- now Richard could see the moonlight glinting off the strangely chitinous sled creatures, and the bizarre teeth of the ostensible Santa. It screamed, baring an impossible array of fangs, and threw a box in the air that exploded into lightning bolts that zigzagged down to a half-dozen spots on the ground, lighting fires wherever it touched. Then the sleigh swooped over the castle stables, and the sled creatures casually ripped off the building's roof as they went.

There were screams now. Fires were spreading. Villagers and castle staff ran around, panicked, knowing they were terrified, but not yet sure what of.

Tad Cooper hissed out the window.

"DON'T LOOK AT THE SCARY MONSTER, TAD!" said Richard, putting a hand over Tad's eyes.

Richard drew his sword, and looked down at Tad Cooper.

"Daddy's got to take care of business."

Richard emerged into the main hall. It seemed eerily calm. The shouting and the chaos were on the other side of thick stone walls. The castle's Christmas Tree stood serenely. Torches flickered along the walls. Empty tables waited for festive feasts.

Across the long room, Roberta and Mathilde stood in close, serious conversation. Richard cleared his throat, and Roberta turned towards him. She looked willfully calm -- an expression that, to anyone else, would have looked quiet and businesslike, but to Richard, revealed the effort of keeping things under control. But that melted away, and she let herself look sad and worried, and she ran to her husband, held him close, and buried her face in the curve of his neck.

The stood apart for a moment, and then Richard spoke, haltingly, as if fumbling for each and every word. "What do we do?"

Mathilde stepped towards them. "The military forces were dispatched north and then never reported back. They may be lost, they may not, but they are unavailable." Her faint Teutonic accent was calming to hear. It gave King Richard the feeling that the problem was being addressed in the most effective and efficient manner possible.

"Then it's just us?" said Richard, his eyes wide. Then suddenly he was all bluster. "Fine! I'll rally whoever's at the castle, and together we --"

"Reporting for duty!" a man said.

Richard turned around and saw that it was Chef Vincenzo, helmeted with a pot and armed with a sauté paddle. Gwynne stood by him, wielding a particularly vicious-looking feather duster.

"Oh, for god's sake," said Richard, "We're all alone!"

Meanwhile, the sound of chanting voices faded in, ever so faintly, in the background, a repeated unison note of "tum tum-ta-tum-tum tum-ta-tum-tum tum tum", over and over.

"We're not alone," said Roberta.

"But we're missing our army!" said Richard.

Roberta folded her arms and beamed.

"Oh," she said, "we *have* an army."

\--

The tum-tee-tums were coming from the edge of town.

Closer by, you could hear the sound of footsteps, footsteps that fell in time with the chant. Strong, repeated footsteps in -- right, yes, a quick, marching pattern. Still closer, you could see the actual source of the tum-tee-tums -- a long column of soldiers marching into town from the western hills, dark silhouettes against the moonlit sky.

A lady's commanding voice cried, "Halt!" The line stopped.

The two figures at the head of the march stepped forward. They stood, backlit by the moon, all ominous shadows. And in fact, those silhouettes were the same two people that Roberta had met outside Redoubt Hill. And as they crested the hill, they were illuminated by the firelight from Krampus's "gifts" to the city, and one could see who they were.

They were two middle-aged ladies with extensive sets of crochet needles and nothing to lose.

The army resumed its march, past the outskirts of town, past fire and destruction, and ever closer and closer to the castle, where Krampus was looping through the sky. And the whole way, every soldier in the line raised their voice in song:

    Song: "We Are the Spinster Army"  
    We are the Spinster Army!  
    Get out of our bloody way!  
    We are the Spinster Army!  
    We're here to save the day!

    We are ready to fight  
    Fueled by years of class resentment  
    With our swords, and our fists  
    Our force shall be ascendant

    And perhaps some would ask  
    Does a spinster have the spirit  
    To take on a fearsome foe  
    When the men will not go near it?

    When you need fire and rage  
    And you want to have an instru-  
    ment of vengeance and fear  
    People in the know will call a spinster

    Tum tum tum

    We are the Spinster Army!  
    Get out of our bloody way!  
    We are the Spinster Army!  
    We're here to save the day!

    We'll go back to our homes  
    When we're done with this malarkey  
    Feed our cats, read our books  
    And dismantle patriarchy

    But for now, duty calls  
    Even though we're all forgotten  
    By the world, we will fight  
    To eliminate the wrong and rotten

    Tum tum tum  
    Tum tee tum tum tum tum

    We are the Spinster Army!  
    Get out of our bloody way!  
    We are the Spinster Army!  
    We're here to save the day!

    To save the day!  
    Save the day!  
    Save the day!

The taller of the two women, Mahalia, stepped forward. "Ready!" she commanded. The spinsters stood at attention. "Aim!" she shouted. Each of them aimed a bow notched with a vicious-looking knitting needle up at the beast.

And when she shouted "Fire!" the makeshift arrows all flew in the air with a sound like wind through the trees. They flew across the light of the moon like so many darting insects. And they converged, with perfect aim, on the Krampus.

And then, at the last moment, they all bounced harmlessly off a translucent sphere around the sleigh whose surface lit up around the spot of each impact.

The shorter of the two women, Midori, snarled. "Magic?" she said. "That's no fair. Come down here and fight like a woman!" she shouted, holding her arms out at her sides.

But the creature was no woman, and flew on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [IS THERE ANY WAY TO DEFEAT KRAMPUS?! And that's it for chapter nine. Chapter ten drops on Friday! In the meantime, please share this with any Galavant fans in your lives. (There are dozens of us! DOZENS!) And if you haven’t seen the show and are somehow reading this fanfic anyway, wow, thanks! Do check out the series on netflix.]


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The monster has arrived at King Richard's castle! The great battle continues as Galavant, Isabella, Gareth, and Sid all race to make it there in time to save the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Okay, when we left off, the Spinster Army had faced off against KRAMPUS and discovered it was invulnerable to their weapons! Things are looking dire for the Seven Kingdoms...]

Okay, I made a promise to stick to telling you things in chronological order, and I'm sticking to it.

At that very moment, Isabella and Galavant were walking up Redoubt Hill. Their horses were gone. Where did the horses go? TOO BAD. CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER. They were both, at this point, wearing small, matching hats. Where did the hats come from? GUESS WE'LL NEVER KNOW. CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER.

They were watching the amulet, which was functioning like a compass. Its frontmost section was lit, and they were following that direction up Redoubt hill. So presumably they'd worked out that mechanism earlier, but again: we'll never really know.

While Galavant held the amulet, Isabella held the sheet of paper that had come with it, helpfully titled "Instructionse for the Amulette". It was written cunningly in that ancient cipher known as "superfluous e's", which had worked quite well in olden times when literacy was a damn tenuous thing to start with.

    The amulette may fighte off anye ancient eville  
    That should howsoevere trouble winterre timee  
    But muste be wieldedde by somethinge pure of hearte  
    In wheresoeverre hearte of kingdome lieseeeeeeee

They stepped up to the top of the hill. The amulet lit up completely, made a faint "bing" noise, and then went dark.

"Here we are," said Isabella. "The heart of the kingdom?"

"I thought it said 'King Dome,'" said Galavant. Isabella quietly shook her head. "Ohhhh," said Galavant.

"Why are there three Christmas trees?" asked Isabella.

"I dunno. But that goat looks *fabulous*," replied Galavant.

The goat bleated like it damn well *knew* it.

"Well, go to it," said Isabella.

"Mmm?"

And as they spoke, the faint melody of "Storybook Marriage" drifted through the air like the passing snowflakes.

"Someone pure of heart has to wield it, said the instructions." She smiled. "And you are as gallant a knight as the kingdom has ever seen," she said, as if reciting the start of an old, beloved storybook. Galavant scoffed with somewhat overdone modesty. "So DO IT," snapped Isabella, who had little time for that. "And aim it at the... creepy flying flame thing," she said, gesturing vaguely at the Krampus.

So Galavant gripped the amulet firmly, and aimed it at the sky towards where the creature's sleigh looped through the air.

And nothing happened.

"Really? Nothing?" asked Isabella. "I mean, you've got your flaws, but -- really?"

"No," said Galavant. "I believe the one that is pure of heart is the one who saved her kingdom from ruin, her family from perdition, and saved me from myself in my darkest hour." He kneeled towards her and held forth the amulet. "Milady," he said.

It would have been so easy to mock his earnest, traditional words. It would always be easy to mock how he not only was a knight, but performed the *role* of the knight, living up to a code of honor that knights themselves rarely adhered to. But those same qualities brought a certain magic to the world, and to her life in it, and the teasing rejoinders slipped from her mind entirely.

She smiled, took the amulet, and then whipped around, scowling, to aim the amulet at the sky.

And nothing happened, again.

"Really?" She looked at the amulet quizzically. "Is this about when I was sixteen and decided, *once*, to try having my --"

"Uh-oh," said Galavant.

Krampus had seen them. He was wheeling his sleigh around towards them.

Isabella instinctively reached for Galavant's hand. And she reached with the hand that held the Snowflake Amulet, so suddenly both of them were clasping the artifact. And at *that* moment, the artifact began to glow. Because, after all, it is often the things between us, more than we ourselves, that are pure of heart. And it is those things that fight the world's evils, in the end.

The amulet glowed. And Isabella and Galavant glowed. And from there, a great wave rippled out through the kingdom, and everyone in the land celebrating the warmth of that winter holiday was literally aglow, in the cool white light of the Snowflake Amulet.

Out by the luxury hovels, two tow-headed children eyeing the boxes next to the neighborhood "Christmas tree" (it was really just a big log, stood upright and decorated with popcorn strings, but it's the thought that counts) began to glow. In Sid's almost-ridiculously Jewish home village, every attendee of the town's Meeting of Elders began to glow. ("It's a stretch, but, okay," said one of them.)

Outside the terrifying Spider Caves, the ominous Hooded Figures of K'Toth, seated at a table with a sign that said "Bake Sale for Orphans" (next to a smaller sign that said "Making a Better Tomorrow Before the Day-Eater Annihilates Us Next Week"), began to glow.

"THIS WILL BE CONVENIENT FOR EXPLORING THE SPIDER CAVES," intoned their chief.

By the northern battlements, Rachel, Marcy, and Bernard were tossing a few final buckets of snow into the now-smoldering river, and they began to glow, but scarcely noticed it, because really it had just been one damned supernatural thing after another since the Krampus came through.

"Don't even start on all that," muttered Rachel, who figured the less the narrative focused on them, the better.

And so we move on, out past the boundaries of the kingdom, on a high, windswept mountaintop, where Madalena rested her arms on the high balcony of the Dark, Dark Evil Castle. Even Madalena began to glow. She muttered something monosyllabic and unrepeatable. But then she smiled slyly, and said to herself, "Nicely done, Gareth."

"What, my queen?" A clockwork liveried servant came bounding through the balcony door.

"NOT NOW I'M MONOLOGUING," said Madalena.

And on the opposite side of the kingdom, on another, non-windy mountaintop, the Valencian King and his wife stood outside "Ye Ski Supply Shoppe", looking over different crude planks of wood. They began to glow.

"What the hell?" said his wife.

"Oh, for -- we're just skiing, okay?" said the king.

They stopped glowing.

"*Thank* you," they both said, and they resumed their quiet holiday away from the holiday.

Back on Redoubt Hill, the Snowflake Amulet was shining like a second sun, as Galavant and Isabella squinted their eyes tightly shut. And the Krampus was still bearing down on them, his insect-like sled creatures chittering madly, their mandibles open, revealing unsettling mouths within mouths within mouths.

And at that exact moment, a beam of pure white light shot from the crystal straight at the sleigh. It caught the vehicle full in the Krampus, lighting a sphere of flames around it, and sending the whole contraption spinning backwards, end over end.

The amulet went dark.

Galavant and Isabella watched, and waited.

The sleigh slowly spun to a stop, and righted itself. Then the Krampus tugged on the reins, and aimed it back at Galavant and Isabella.

Then it picked up right where it left off, charging straight for them.

"I think we run now," said Isabella.

Then there was a strange 'whoosh' in the air, and a single, precisely-aimed crochet needle stabbed Krampus right in the face. He howled to the sky in pain and rage.

Midori stood proudly at the fore of the Spinster Army. Mahalia clapped her proudly on the shoulder. "Aha! -- magic kills magic," she said. Then, to the assembled spinsters, she shouted, "The shield is down! ATTACK!" A full volley of crochet needles launched into the sky. Then flaming bottles of vaguely-lavender-scented perfume. Then they began rolling out a lovingly-crafted trebuchet, stocked with a heavy, decorative soapstone.

That last projectile knocked the sled into a thousand pieces. Suddenly, it went from a flying sleigh to a cloud of wood chips, suspended in the air around the Krampus. His strange oversized insects skittered off each in its own direction. The Krampus himself was knocked straight back, spinning madly through the air and landing somewhere out of sight, in the distant hills.

Meanwhile, the monster's entire sack of "presents" tumbled open, and the gift boxes scattered and fell.

This... was a bad thing.

One of them plopped on the ground and immediately started lengthening, like an expanding spring, as its sides grew hard, and shiny, and scaly, and one end turned into a set of circular rattles, while the other extended into a diamond-shaped serpent's head.

Another was instantly chewed apart upon landing, revealing a set of whirling blades, sweeping out a volume about six feet tall and three feet in diameter. Over time, it drifted, ominously and inexorably, towards the nearest living thing.

Another popped open to reveal a music box that played, off-key, the first thirty seconds of "The Twelve Days of Christmas", over and over and over again.

(It was quite possibly the worst of the lot.)

And so on and so on, with dozens of boxes scattered across Redoubt Hill, and its hideous contents making slowly towards the town.

Midori raised a great, gleaming chef's knife aloft. "Spinsters!" she cried out. "Attack!"

\--

"You don't need to sulk about it," said Sid.

"I'm not sulking," said Gareth.

Gareth was sulking.

"I AM NOT!" said Gareth, sulkily. "Why does the narrator always take your side?" he asked Sid.

The two of them were walking a long dirt path through an old pine forest, the last leg of a very long journey back to the kingdom proper. Sid had been gathering mementos along the way -- he was especially proud of the small "Neo of Sporin -- good for what ails ye!" tapestry -- and was happy to be returning home.

"It'll be great!" said Sid, a broad smile on his face. "We'll be back home, we can tell them all about what we've found out." He looked worried. "Unless the monster has already attacked, and it's all been destroyed."

"Either way, I don't get to *fight* the monster," complained Gareth. "And, by the way, we haven't had one decent fight all this way home."

"What a relief," said Sid.

"All because of this peaceful holiday season," he said in his most mock-whiny, sarcastic voice. "Nobody ever gets *me* what I want, and --"

Gareth stopped speaking suddenly.

"What?" asked Sid, looking around.

Gareth held up a fist in a military "hold still" gesture. Sid complied. And suddenly, Sid could hear it, too: a faint, keening roar, quiet now but increasing in volume.

Gareth looked around in all directions. Then he looked up. Then he pointed at the moon.

Sid followed Gareth's gaze and saw, silhouetted against the moon, a strange figure hurtling through the sky towards them. Sid stood transfixed for a few moments, as the details slowly became apparent. It was a massive creature somewhere between a human and a goat, with great horns, strange vertical eyes, and a mouth with countless needle-like teeth. Sid yelped and bounded out of the way just before the creature slammed into the trees.

For a few moments, everything was quiet, save for the insects, the nightbirds, and a few lingering, broken branches dropping to the ground.

Then the creature leapt out from the trees to the path, and ran at them, shockingly fast, with a strange, off-balance gait. It stopped, reared up on its legs, and howled an unearthly cry. It lowered its gaze to where Gareth was, and the creature slowly extended three wicked-looking talons on each hand.

Gareth smiled -- *really* smiled -- for, by Sid's count, the second time in his life. A tear welled in Gareth's eye, as he carefully drew two long blades out of their scabbards.

"It's a Hannukah miracle!" said Gareth.

\--

Around the castle, chaos reigned.

Snow whirled through the air, as every manner of monster roamed the grounds. One by one, they had emerged from their boxes, and one by one, they galloped, or slithered, or shambled, or crept their steady way towards the castle.

And every one of them met their match in the spinster army. Whether it was expertly leading a lava-horse to drown in the moat, or slicing the head off of a great Medusa-serpent, or blasting a zombie with a homemade cannon, or expertly dousing a gelatinous cube with salt ("how tragically expensive," sniffed the old lady), the spinsters were ready to do what needed doing.

For years afterwards, the literate monks of Busfeed Abbey would write obnoxious list-based think-pieces like "Eight Reasonse Most Fascynatinge Why the Spinsters Were Well-Swyted for Battel (Nomber 5 Will Surpryze Ye!)" But none of the monks actually *knew* any spinsters, and the monks just assumed that spinsters spent all their time caring for their cats on their island in the middle of Slavadis Pond.

Point being, they fought well, and were steadily dispatching the hundreds of monsters that had tumbled out of Krampus's evil sleigh.

And any creature that somehow managed to slip past the mighty gauntlet of spinsters had to face Richard and Roberta, who were striking them down with practiced efficiency, and with such focus that Roberta almost didn't hear the voice from the woods.

"Queen Roberta!"

The queen threw a battle hammer at a walking skeleton, and it obligingly collapsed into a pile of lifeless bones. Then she turned to the source of the sound, sword raised, ready to strike down the intruder.

She stopped in her tracks.

"Sid!"

For a moment, all the tensions of battles and monsters and travels left both of them completely, and they both smiled like it was a peaceful spring morning. Sid ran towards her as happy as sunlight, and then stopped himself. "Wait! Queen Roberta, I must warn you. There is a monster headed for this very castle, and AAAAOHMYGOD WHAT WHAT"

Midsentence, Sid had looked casually to his left and seen the entire nightmarish vista of a hundred spinsters fighting a hundred terrifying monsters, under a sky blood-red from the still-burning fires. "It's alright," said Roberta, all professionalism, and handed him a mace.

"You're okay at killing things with a sword, right?"

Then Roberta winced, remembering the whole situation with Sid accidentally (and temporarily) killing Galavant with the knight's own weapon. "Not the best phrasing," she said.

Sid shrugged, took the mace, and waited for the oncoming horrors -- though it looked like the spinsters were making short work of the last of the creatures, some particularly ill-tempered armored swans.

There was a crash from the woods. And another, louder, closer. And then suddenly, bursting from the trees, was the monster itself! Krampus! Close up, it looked even more... unnatural, with its strangely turning horns, and its bright, vertical eyes, and its mouth's pincushion of slender fangs. It howled at them both, but then staggered.

And at that moment, there was a great, bellowing scream! And suddenly, Gareth was there, swords drawn and swinging, bounding towards the monster. Krampus took one look at Gareth and bolted for the woods. Gareth slowed down and offered Roberta a quick bow. Between ragged breaths, he said, "It's a monster... and it bleeds... and I'm so happy."

And then he was charging after it, full speed, shouting, "I LOVE HANNUKAH!"

Roberta gave Sid a look. "No idea," said Sid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [And that's it for chapter ten. ONE! MORE! CHAPTER! ONE! MORE! CHAPTER! Chapter eleven drops on Christmas Day -- in the meantime, please share this with any Galavant fans in your lives. (There are dozens of us! DOZENS!) And if you haven’t seen the show and are somehow reading this fanfic anyway, wow, thanks! Do check out the series on netflix.]


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With KRAMPUS and his army defeated, we move on to the thrilling denouement! Character beats! Christmas presents! And one last long-awaited musical number...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Okay, when we left off, KRAMPUS and his minions had been largely defeated -- but what of the thrilling denouement?!]

The lack of casualties was shocking. Sure, many luxury hovels had gone up in flames, but their families would live to see many Christmases more, and the city dwellers were already sorting out how to rebuild the lands around Redoubt Hill. The spinsters had killed off every monster that had tumbled out of Krampus's ill-fated sleigh, except for those armored swans. The spinsters settled for chasing them out to the river and hoping to every god that no one ever crossed paths with them again.

Swans are nasty.

But for now, they had won. And that night, they could all gather together, and take a breath.

And the main hall of the castle was beautiful, lit with a hundred bright candles and glimmering with a thousand gems, with the tree towering magnificently over the scene. And everyone was gathered there -- warm, and relaxed, and happy.

    Song: One Perfect Christmas (Reprise)  
    Christmastime  
    Christmastime  
    Christmastime  
    Christmastime

    Christmas and we're all together now  
    Villains and monsters gone  
    Friendship and love are victorious  
    Except for those terrible armored swans

    Fairytales never really end  
    They just lead someplace new  
    And I will spend this perfect Christmas with you

    We will spend this perfect Christmas with you!

As the last note faded, Galavant stepped out of the main hall and found his way to a portico. He looked out over the city. The fires were out. The snow was falling. He watched his breath cloud the air in front of him.

Isabella stepped out of the shadows without making a sound. Galavant had just grown to accept that she was preternaturally stealthy, and had finally stopped jumping out of his skin when she just appeared like that. Instead, this time, he casually pulled a gift from his vest, something large and flat, wrapped in colorful cloth, and tied with a bow.

"I had gotten you a present already, and put it under the tree at the Seaside Castle," he said, "But I changed my mind." He thought a moment, and rephrased it: "I found a better one."

She gave him a curious look, and opened the packaging. It was a gleaming copper... device, of some sort -- something with a few interconnected arms that one might use for drawing circles.

"It's a sextant," he said.

"Oh, right," she said, finally holding it up the right way round. "It's for sex, right?"

"Not... conventionally," said Galavant, pensively.

"I know, it's for reckoning direction when you're sailing the high seas. But we'll never do that again, surely?"

"We should," he said. "We must. We will."

She smiled giddily. "Okay, I must give you mine, then," she said, handing over a smaller, flatter gift. "Also new."

Galavant set to work on the cloth and ribbon. "It's something I've had for some time," she said, "but... I never thought I'd give it to you. Never thought I'd use it at all, any more."

It was a piece of vellum, neatly folded. Galavant carefully unfurled it, revealing a map, neatly inscribed with images of mountains, and whimsical creatures, words in some strangely-lettered language, and, right in the center, a dotted-line path leading to a brightly-colored "X".

"Where is this?" asked Galavant.

"I don't know!" whispered Isabella.

And in that moment, they both smiled like giddy schoolchildren. They were going to find out where it was, and what sort of treasure was there. And they would find out together.

\--

"We're done," said Vincenzo.

"We're done," said Gwynne.

They looked exhausted. But now the main celebrations were over, and every single guest at Richard's castle, from the spinsters to the atheists to their small, merry band from years ago, were all be-fed and be-maided for the night.

The servant couple walked absently, hand-in-hand, through the castle, and found themselves at one of the alcoves off the main hall. They were surprised to see it occupied. And then they were much, much more surprised to see who was occupying it.

"SID!" said Vincenzo, his eyes wide. "You're back! I haven't seen you in," he counted on his fingers, "at least a season and a half! Welcome back to civilization!"

"Thanks, Chef," he said.

"What you got there?" asked Gwynne.

"It's a gift," said Sid. He had a large wooden dreidel and was about to wrap it in gift cloth and ribbons. "A dreidel is --"

"Oh, now, I know what a dreidel is," said Vincenzo. "I cook food for a living, so trust me, I spend a lot of time with Jewish people."

"I don't think you're stereotyping correctly," said Sid.

"Who's the present for?" asked Gwynne. "Some lucky lady?"

"N-no," said Sid hesitantly. "It's for Gareth."

Vincenzo looked puzzled. "Is that the sort of present he would like? Think Gareth only spins something if it has a blade for cutting someone's head off."

"Nah, Gareth's been talking about wanting one all the way home to the castle," said Sid. "I... told him that every side it lands on corresponds to a horrific violent act." Now both Vincenzo and Gwynne looked puzzled. "I may have spent the last day or two teaching Gareth all the wrong words for things in Hebrew."

"Ah, where is Gareth, anyway?" asked Gwynne, looking for a change of subject.

"Last I saw," said Sid, "he was still out in the snow, repeatedly stabbing the monster, shouting, 'It bleeds, it bleeds, I believe in miracles, it bleeds.'"

There was a long pause, and then both Gwynne and Vincenzo said "Hmm," and went on their way. They were tired, and this seemed a bit much to untangle.

\--

Eventually things end.

Every story ends. Every bright and cheery morning, every cold and frightening night, every beloved set of episodic and whimsical adventures... all of them end, in time. And so it is with even the best parties. 

And I suppose they end at different rates for different people. This party happened to end early for Roberta and Richard. Yes, Roberta had made every arrangement and gone to every length to create the perfect holiday party. But she got tired early, no doubt in part because of fighting off the terrifying hell-spawned monsters with a sword. So they both retired to their chamber, leaving the revellers to revel as they saw fit.

"Ah. A day of staggering success!" said Richard, doffing his cloak. Through the bedroom window, a hundred or so fires smoldered around Redoubt Hill, with valliant villagers fighting back against the flames. "Prophecy followed, monster destroyed -- I really think this kingdom can handle everything."

"Yes," Roberta said absently, "we're safe." She looked not at Richard, but at a few gems laid out on a night-table. She'd completely forgotten to wear them to the party.

"And you had your party!" said Richard, almost like he had read her mind. Almost. "And the food was fantastic, and all our friends were there! It was lovely!" Richard smiled brightly. Roberta furrowed her brow, lost in thought. "Right?" he asked, a bit worried.

There are moments in life that call out for music.

And as Roberta took a breath, her eyes still resting on the table in front of her, one could feel music gently sounding in the air, preparing the stage for something weighty, for a simple, clear emotion to catch fire in the room and leave everything in it changed forever.

But the song didn't come.

The words were too simple. And Roberta's heart was not quite one emotion or another, but rather all of them at once.

"I'm pregnant," she said. "And I'm scared."

Her voice broke a bit: "Because I want it to be perfect."

For a long moment, Richard registered nothing but shock -- not happy, not sad, just frozen and wide-eyed. Then he looked... annoyed. Roberta's heart sank.

"It *is* perfect," said Richard, sounding genuinely confused that she could think anything different. He saw that Roberta was crying. Perhaps he didn't realize that his response had been tone-deaf, but he knew that his wife was upset, and he rushed over and embraced her.

"It is," he repeated, with all his heart.

\--

The snow whirled outside the window. The snow whirled around the castle. A few revelers from the party stumbled out of the main hall and twirled around in the whirling snow, which made things swirly enough that they lost their balance entirely and fell, laughing. Even the dour bell-ringer didn't seem to mind the snowfall as he sat idly in front of the castle gates.

"Look, I get a union-mandated break every four hours," said the bell-ringer.

It quenched the last of the fires near Redoubt Hill, and fell on the spinster army marching back to Slavadis Pond. It fell on pirate ships and magical lairs -- on hushed, ancient ruins and modern, bustling bazaars. It swirled around the Mountain of the Thousand Deaths, where the troll was reading up on Busfeed Abbey's "Twolve Seekrits to Maintaininge Love in ye Lyfe (Nombre two is verye simple!)" It fell on a bizarre, ancient stone labyrinth that seemed to match precisely to the map that Isabella had held onto all those years. It fell on the distant mountain slopes where the King and Queen of Valencia were finally, as they put it, "getting their ski on". It fell on the Dark, Dark, Evil Castle, where Madalena stared out at the snowflakes, surrounded by minions but unmistakably alone, and pensive. It fell on the northern battlements, where the troops, notified of the victory at Richard's castle, were settling back into life in the middle of nowhere. And beyond those battlements, in the misty distance, in places no chronicler had yet described -- the snow fell as far as the eye could see.

And there, in that moment, it was a perfect Christmas after all.

THE END

"No!" said Steve.

You -- you don't get to "No" THE END, Steve. That's not how this works. So:

THE END

"Look, I've worked for this whole time on this bloody song, okay?"

Wait, you mean the fanfic-gift thing? Look, Steve, that was just a one-off bit of meta commentary --

"What? Not for me, it wasn't. While everybody else was off having whimsical adventures and learning important truths about themselves? While *you* were getting to do all the narrating? I was locked up in a garrett that smells way too much like cat pee -- and, sidebar, that's just weird, there are no visible cats there, none, but -- anyway, working on this one song."

Well, be that as it may, Steve, I mean, we've done THE END, so that --

"Well, just put a bit after it. I mean, this doesn't have to be *long*, and it'd be a narrative payoff. Seriously, what's that word for when you add a little bit to the end of the story after you --"

EPILOGUE

"*Thank* you," said Steve as he walked into the Royal Hall.

It was a couple of days after Christmas proper, but no one seemed too hung up about that. Steve took his place, standing in front of the monks. Opposite him, Richard sat in his throne, with Tad Cooper, the apparent lizard and rumored dragon, seated on his knee. Both wore appropriately-sized crowns.

"Ah! There you are," said Roberta. "Do... you have the present for King Richard?"

Richard gasped. "I'm getting another present?"

"Indeed, my king," Steve said with a short bow.

Steve played a note on a pitch pipe. The monks effortlessly 'ah'ed on a major chord and started smooth vocal accompaniment.

    Song: "Tad Cooper!"  
    The fairytales from days of old  
    All follow fame and glory  
    With kings and queens and retinues  
    We only hear their story

    But we shall have new songs to sing  
    New chapters we can add  
    About the ones who mean the most  
    Like a beloved little dragon  
    Named Tad!

    STEVE: Tad Cooper has a future of breathing fire  
    MONKS: Oh yes, oh yes he does  
    STEVE: But for now he just hisses when he gets real tired  
    MONKS: 'cos that's what a little dragon does!

    STEVE: Tad Cooper has a future of graceful flight  
    MONKS: Oh yes, oh yes he does  
    STEVE: But for now, he's a lap dragon, that's alright.  
    MONKS: 'cos that's what a little dragon does!

    STEVE: He's Tad!  
    MONKS: Tad!  
    STEVE: Tad!  
    MONKS: Tad!  
    STEVE: The best little dragon that a king has ever had! He's Tad!  
    MONKS: Tad!  
    STEVE: Tad!  
    MONKS: Tad!  
    STEVE: The best little dragon of them all!

    STEVE: Tad Cooper has a future where he could be bad  
    MONKS: Oh yes, oh yes he does  
    STEVE: But he'll learn to be good from his royal dad  
    MONKS: 'cos that's what a little dragon does!

    STEVE: Tad Cooper has a future we don't know yet  
    MONKS: Oh yes, oh yes he does  
    STEVE: But he'll stay true to Richard as the man's best pet  
    MONKS: 'cos that's what a little dragon does!

    STEVE: He's Tad!  
    MONKS: Tad!  
    STEVE: Tad!  
    MONKS: Tad!  
    STEVE: The best little dragon that a king has ever had! He's Tad!  
    MONKS: Tad!  
    STEVE: Tad!  
    MONKS: Tad!  
    STEVE: The best little dragon of them all!

    STEVE: He's the best little dragon!  
    MONK #1: We're obsessed with the dragon!  
    MONK #2: He's a loyal little dragon!  
    MONK #3: And a royal little dragon!  
    MONK #1: Just a scrappy little dragon!  
    MONK #2: Such a happy little dragon!  
    ALL: It's true! It's true! Tad Cooper is the best! Little! Dragon! Of them all!

They all waited nervously for one breath, and then another.

And then Richard got to his feet and clapped. A proud smile stole across his features like sunlight.

And, unseen, behind the throne, Tad Cooper sneezed, coughed up a puff of flame, and fell asleep.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [And that's it for the whole story! Thanks so much for reading -- if you liked it, give it some kudos and share it with any Galavant fans in your lives. (There are dozens of us! DOZENS!) And if you haven’t seen the show and for some reason read this fanfic anyway, wow, thanks! Do check out the series on netflix. And a Happy Holiday to us all. :)]

**Author's Note:**

> [... aaand there’s the end of chapter one. Chapter two drops on Monday! In the meantime, please share this with any Galavant fans in your lives. (There are dozens of us! DOZENS!) And if you haven’t seen the show and are somehow reading this fanfic anyway, wow, thanks! Do check out the series on netflix.]


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